


Jadeheart

by Xima



Series: The Jadeheart's Court [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 5 Years After War's End, Adoption, Brigid Politics, Brigid Worldbuilding, Doropetra Week, F/F, Fluff, Happy Ending, Palace life, Spirits are real and they are cute!, Takes Place in Wake of Crimson Flower, The girls are 30, badass grandma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-31
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-02-25 02:40:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 63,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22488721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xima/pseuds/Xima
Summary: Brigid thrives in the wake of the war, as do relations with the Empire. Dorothea makes her way there to showcase Adrestian culture, and Petra cannot let her leave without seeing her again.Love blooms, and a street rat gets a new lease on life. Together they maneuver through palatial politics and explore the beautiful world of the twin islands together.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Petra Macneary, Dorothea/Petra
Series: The Jadeheart's Court [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1661101
Comments: 114
Kudos: 151





	1. Lovers Found

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an early entry for Doropetra Week, but the muses swept me away and I liked it too much to lock it up until the week actually rolled around.
> 
> It was originally written as a one-shot, but quickly grew a life of its own.

The wind was soothing within the throne room, windows thrown open to allow it entry. The ocean breeze blew through peaceably, giving Petra a certain measure of peace as she listened to the seemingly endless line of petitioners who had waited so patiently for their opportunity to plead their cases to the Crown Princess of Brigid. It was exhausting. It was boring. Often, it was pointless.

But, at least the wind was nice.

Petra sat in her father's throne, posture carefully formal, despite her own discomfort. She was the living symbol of Brigid, the avatar which held within it the spirits of her home, but even now it still felt like her father's throne, with herself as pale pretender. She grasped the jade pendant around her throat. Only when Edelgard had freed Brigid from its vassalage and allowed Brigid to self-govern once more with her at its head was she able to see her family's holy relics once more. Her father lived on within the jade of her pendant, as has every ruler before her in their own jade icon. There was no freedom for her family, duty continuing past death, honor-bound to advise and assist their ancestors. 

Not that such paltry matters as these required her father's guidance.

"Highest Jadeheart, to allow these--foreigners to use our speaking grounds for mere entertainment is blasphemy! You cannot allow these troupes of mummers to use our holy lands." Hissed yet another old priest, beads jangling at their wrists as they gesticulated wildly. Petra carefully resisted the urge to scoff. The speaking grounds were for everyone. Civil functions, tourneys, festivals and yes, religious ceremonies.

It was like this every day. Pointless objections to public policy, cajoling and wheedling for favoritism from her court, and endless attempts to undermine her for their own agendas. She had sat on this throne for almost half a decade now, and she had never let them take advantage of her on her first day. To see them try even now just proved tiresome.

"Shaman," began Petra with a gimlet stare, "you know as well as I that speaking grounds are not strictly for religious use, and is not sacred. If you wish to sway me, you will require more than half-baked xenophobic rabble-rousing to turn away tourism, cultural enrichment and broadening of cultural horizons with our neighbors." She stated bluntly, taking small pleasure in the way they gawped at her like a fish. 

Or, she did until he made the mistake of opening his mouth again. 

"Oh, aye, culture! That of our oppressors!? Fine words, coming from the woman who spent half her life away from the islands and in their loving arms. You'd love it if our culture burned! One "cultural opportunity" at a time!" He cried out, loud enough for the other petitioners to hear.

The sun burned brightly above them as always, but the room was colder for the force of her frosty glare. Guards stood at the ready. "You overstep, Shaman. You throw my words in my face, disrespecting me and the opportunity I have given you to plead your case. Leave this place, or be forced from the grounds." She stated, frost riming her words, hand slowly reaching back to her father around her neck, grasping it. Though they did not force him, one of her guards briskly escorted him out of the queue. She sighed in the moments before the next petitioner stepped forward. Now there would be another. Life was simpler when she was a mortal savant under her Professor's command. 

Simpler, but not better. She would not make the mistakes of her forefathers, and she would champion Brigid as a peaceful nation.

Despite their frequent, noisy resistance to her plans for the nation, these were her people. This was her duty, and this was her home. She would make it into the shining beacon she knew it was meant to be if she had to drag her people into modernity kicking and screaming.

Though, she had to admit her own bias. Dorothea and Healer Manuela had infected her with appreciation for the operatic arts of the mainland. She hoped that despite the words of fools like that priest, her time away from the nation had only given her perspective to help in leading her people in dealing with the outside world. Her people would remember her as a conciliator, someone who brought Brigid into the world at large.

Or, that is what she hoped they would remember her for.

Her mind wandered then, as the next petitioner spoke. Simple, obvious matters. Something about extending the grazing lands of a farmer's herds nearer to a holy mountain. Of course she would say no, all that was left was to wait for her long-winded petitioner to stop licking her boots for her to do so. All she could think of were the days when Dorothea had worked so hard to show her the beauty of her nation’s culture. She understood in a way that few wanted to how cruel her country and her people could be, and still she found such beauty in the culture that hurt her, and in turn raised her up.

She thought of their nights on the march when Dorothea and Manuela would sing in duet, some mercenary or another pulling a lute from somewhere, and how their voices had swept her away, Dorothea's profile glimmering in the firelight, hair gleaming like burnished bronze... the way she would look back at her, eyes shining, stealing her breath away.

She remembered their quiet words in the darkness, how they had whispered secrets to one another that no other souls alive knew, how they talked about life and death and their plans after the war.

But they had been at war. And she was royalty. As kind, and loving and sweet, and smart and beautiful as she was in the firelight, she could not pursue her. Not honorably in the ways of her people. Not with so much unsure still. She had duties, even then as princess in exile. Responsibilities. Expectations.

She stifled a yawn as the petitioner finally finished their speech. She dismissed them, and the day dragged on interminably as they all were, Petra bored stiff. 

She missed Dorothea.

\---

Brigid was so beautiful. The blue, blue ocean, the exotic trees, the warmth that necessitated a brand new wardrobe... Dorothea was so glad she made the time to get to Brigid. With trade on the uptick upon the end of the war, Anna was quick to point out to her one day that culture was a commodity that could be bought and sold just as easily as jewelry. 

This of course led to her offer of forming a traveling opera troupe to tour through the Empire and its allies.

Dorothea was hard-pressed to object to the thought. Though her time at the opera house, both as understudy to Manuela and as prima donna had been wonderful, she was sick of the rich that infested her art form. More people could and should learn to appreciate the opera and its beautiful stories! The thought of sharing her art with the uninitiated and seeing the world at large without worrying about an arrow in the throat was an enticing one.

So, that was how she ended up saddled with Anna, traveling from village to village dazzling the commonfolk. Or, she hoped she did. There was often quite a bit of confused staring. But she quickly learned to adjust to her audience and her new medium. Their sets were not as elaborate as at the opera house of course, and a focus on the more folksy tales she knew and loved went over better overall. But this was a new and exciting challenge in and of itself. Brigid didn't speak the same language. 

This, Anna had assured her, would not dissuade those who wished to see some true culture. In the days of the country's vassalhood there had been almost no cultural interplay, the Empire seeing Brigid as foreign and strange, the Brigidians seeing the Empire as interlopers. But with Princess Petra's (her Petra! Princess Petra!) thawing of relations, tastes were shifting. And Anna, savvy merchant she was, pointed them towards Brigid to act as the first wave. Anna had spent many a night starry-eyed at the thought of beautiful Brigid fibercrafts and materials that she could ferry to the mainland and the delight she would take in charging nobles through the nose for.

And that, in turn led to her searching for someone who could read and write in Brigidian who could transcribe the Opera's lyrics for the audience. Mercifully, Petra had deigned to teach her a bit of Brigidian when they had been girls, and she took full advantage as she grilled merchants and scholars for someone who could serve.

"700 gold a page!?" She cried out in disbelief. The merchant stared at her from inside her stall, unimpressed. 

"That is the price, Adrestian." She said, not breaking eye contact. Spots of color grew on her cheeks as she clenched her fists. 

"Why you listen here! That price is that of a thief's! If you want to spit at me, fine, but don't look me in the eye and be saying it is rain!" She yelled in (she hoped) passible Brigidian, loud enough to get the attention of the other people on the street to her grim satisfaction. 

The merchant scoffed, waving her off. 

"Begone, noisy woman. I've no need of your business and no desire for your presence." She said, in a way Dorothea was almost certain was intentionally hard for her basic understanding of the tongue to grasp. With a final harrumph, Dorothea stomped off, still in her normal clothing, thick red dress leaving her sweaty and uncomfortable while the order for garments she put in with Anna was being fulfilled. Miserably, she sat down in the town square, near a modest fountain, staring into space.

She missed Petra. She missed having someone to care for like she cared for her.

It had been years since she had seen her, but she missed her just as much now as she did the first day Petra had left to rule her kingdom. Her kind words, steady hands, her incredible patience and dedication... her gorgeous accent…

She did her best to hide away the part of her that made sure to remind her Petra was half the reason she agreed to come all this way, but it was a lost cause. She sighed, forlorn. 

She wanted people to love. The amount of money she had given the orphanages they passed by, the meals she’d bought the urchins who had stumbled into her path was embarrassing, but she could hardly help herself. She wanted so badly to help. She so badly wanted to share her love with those who deserved it, who needed it, like she did all those years ago.

She so badly wanted no one to have to live her life. 

Petra may have been royalty, but she believed firmly that they had something special. She had been a hostage, back then. But still, she was so kind, so ready to bond with an Adrestian street rat, the scum of the people who captured her.

Because she knew she saw it. As prettily as she dressed, as carefully as she hid her street rat's accent, she knew Petra saw her for who she really was. Who she always would be. Right from their first meeting when she'd instantly narrowed her eyes at the scars the rats left on her hand from when she'd slept in the wrong alley, and promptly looked up and greeted her with a smile, clasping her hand.

Perhaps it was selfish, but she liked to think she would not have befriended just anyone. Their school days together were some of her most cherished memories. Her soft, kind words that never mocked her origins or how she kept them secret. How she would gently tease her when she made a particularly bad translation error and helped her fix it. The delicious meals Petra would make for her at times, spicy enough to bring tears to her eyes... and their teamwork on the battlefield. She'd dropped more than a few meteors on the heads of anyone who dared get close to her Petra, and the number of people Petra had cut down to protect her. They had been terrors, the Professor often complimenting their teamwork to their shared delight.

She was pulled from her reverie by a tug of her sleeve. She looked over, surprised to see a shabby urchin, golden-brown eyes looking up at her through poorly cut bangs. 

"You need to translate something?" They asked, matter-of-fact. Dorothea was too caught off-guard to do anything but tell the truth. 

"Y--yes. Why?" She asked, confused. Who was this little one, so small and thin and haggard? Her heart gave an uncomfortable lurch, recognizing the hollowness of their cheeks from her own face before Manuela had saved her from the streets.

"I can translate it." They said simply. "100 gold a page." Their voice was soft, clothing too big for them, hair a pretty slate color, albeit straw-like from wear and poor care. 

"W--well, that is a very fair price. What is your name?" She asked, fighting not to take them under her wing then and there.

"...Asha." They said, after a moment, obviously a bit uncomfortable sharing their name. Dorothea gave a polite nod at the admission.

"Well Asha, in the Empire it is good -- tradition? To celebrate new business friendships with food. I will take you out to lunch?" She offered, a trifle nervously. 

Asha froze, then, eyes widening like a rabbit in a snare. She knew that look. She was offering something for nothing, and they were looking for the trap. No one was kind to urchins without an agenda. Dorothea wanted so badly to soothe them with a soft touch, like she had so dearly wanted as a lonely, hungry child. But she resisted, instead straightening her posture and offering a soft smile.

"I mean you no harm, Asha. My name is Dorothea. We can eat wherever Asha wants." She promised, hands open in her lap as she looked them in the eye. Their eyes complimented their beautiful tanned skin wonderfully.

Asha seemed to have been mollified by something in her gaze, because they nodded once, jerkily, before turning to point down a street. "There is a place there with good food." They said simply. Dorothea stood up, dusting off her dress before giving Asha another smile. "I am sure I will not be sad." 

And so, they were off.

\---

Finally, a day where she could actually take some time for the opera. It had been weeks that she had been meaning to visit, and she had even made sure to know when they were leaving -- it seemed they were making brisk business, and had extended their stay. To no one's surprise, from what she could tell. Apparently Anna was the one who had bankrolled the operation, and she could offer nothing but cautious respect and reasonable tariffs for the sprightly merchant gradually growing an empire bigger than Adrestia's.

Their next show was tonight, and she had an out -- she refused to call it an excuse. Her advisor had said it would be good for diplomatic relations if Petra were seen enjoying foreign arts to help cement her position as a ruler welcoming of Adrestian business and culture. And who was she to challenge her advisor's sage advice? So, she prepared.

Her handmaids worked tirelessly. They combed and braided her hair, festooning it with her beads of office. The many marks of her honor, status, and skill at arms which she had earned in her life. Her garments similarly were stunning, striking green and yellow garments draping around her body, showing off her flat stomach and her unquestionably well-built arms, accentuated by bronze arm bands. She rarely wore all her beads, or made such effort to be so striking a presence, but this time she felt it was warranted.

After all, she was going to be at an ostensibly-foreign event as royalty in public.

After all, Dorothea would be there.

She was a mess. Of course she'd asked if Dorothea was on the playbill. And of course she was. And of course it had turned the Crown Princess of Brigid into a blushing schoolgirl. All she could think of was what she would look like after all these years. If she had been doing well. If she had missed her. In the darkest parts of her heart, she hoped despite herself that she came here for her. She took a cleansing breath, straightening her back.

She stepped out of her chambers as the image of royal grace. Beautiful. Untouchable. The avatar of a royal line that had the souls of a hundred ancestors sworn to her service. Her guards escorted her to her palanquin -- a pointless display, but one forced upon her by her status -- and they were off. All she could do was sit in the darkness of her palanquin and wait to see her again.  


\---

The show was a hit, as she knew it would be. Asha had been true to her word, and gave wonderful translations, even helping to engineer a system of sliding placards which the crew could load with the translations and send sliding across the bottom of the stage. They had proven themselves a smart, committed, ingenious, broken little girl Dorothea never wanted to let go.

Oh, she had come up with all manner of odd jobs to keep them nearby, but she'd caught them listening to her warm ups with a look of quiet amazement. She could help them. She could pass on Manuela's gift. To leave such a beautiful soul to molder in the streets should be a crime, and it was one she was happy to rectify. She was so sad.

She saw the haunted, paranoid look in their eye, how twitchy they got when there were men around. How they fastidiously kept their hair short as she had as a child. Girls did not last long on the streets. They never referred to themselves as a girl, but she hoped that maybe she could help them to reclaim that part of themselves, see it as more than another risk, another thing to hide.

She sighed as she delicately scrubbed at the thick stage make-up she had caked onto her face, reapplying her more natural style. She wasn’t in her (heavy, suffocating) stage wear anymore, and in some of the tropical wear she’d commissioned from Anna, resplendent in a red garment that left her midriff exposed, half-sleeves reaching halfway down her upper arms, with lovely gold detailing along the edges, a delicate slit showing off just a touch of cleavage. The outfit was completed with a fluttery, silky ankle-skirt and strap-up calf-length sandals.

While she was relaxing at the end of the show backstage with the others, she was surprised to see Asha sprinting at her, full-tilt with a wild look in their eyes. While happy to see them as ever, Dorothea was alarmed to see them in such a rush, and so out of place. They were just supposed to be a clerk giving directions to guests to find their seats! They shouldn't even be backstage?

"Asha? What is the problem?" She asked, surprise coloring her voice. Asha fell onto herself, hands at knees as she took great gulps of air before looking up into her eyes and flailing their arm outside. "The -- the princess --" they gasped. Dorothea's eyes boggled.

"What!? Asha, the princess what!?" Urged Dorothea, Asha's panic proving infectious. Petra -- Petra is here? Did she see the show? Is she here for her?

"She said -- she looked at me --" she babbled on, "She said "bring Dorothea to me."" They gasped out, pointing to her. Dorothea's heart simultaneously flew into her throat and imploded into itself in desperate, frantic joy.

"Then do as the princess said, Asha, take me to her!" She said, hiking up her skirts as she followed Asha along the aisle towards Petra, who to her shock was standing right outside of the backstage entrance, breathing quickly with a faint sheen of sweat, her amethyst eyes wide and gleaming as they started at her. She stood in royal regalia, and Dorothea’s throat locked up. There was only one word that could come out of her mouth as she gazed at her dearest friend, after so long, dressed so beautifully.

"Petra."

\---

Her name on Dorothea's lips was sweeter than the entire show. Despite herself, Petra had sprinted after the child, steps silent as she followed them to the entrance backstage, desperate to be close to Dorothea, her mind half-mad at the implications of her own actions. She sprinted after a child, abandoning royal decorum to get closer to Dorothea. To see Dorothea. Her heart knew exactly why, but her mind could barely address the implications of her actions. Until that woman said her name and it all made sense.

"Dorothea." She whispered, heart pounding for reasons more serious than the light cardio that brought her here. "You're here." She said, stupidly. Dimly, she was aware that she had said that in Brigid, and that there was still a child there, staring at them like they'd both grown extra heads, but she couldn't bring herself to care.

"I -- yes, Petra. I'm here." She said softly in Brigid, taking a step forward, then another until they were only feet away. "I hoped you would come. You never did see me in a real show before." She said, with that fond smile that left her resolve melting. Petra wanted to -- she wanted to do a lot of things, in that moment. "You clean up nicely." She said, with a teasing wink. "Princess."

Petra gulped, trying to keep herself in line. "Is there somewhere private we could speak?" Asked Petra, shifting to Dorothea's mother tongue. Dorothea smiled at her, a glint of mischief in her beautiful, shining eyes.

"Oh, Petra, don't try and keep secrets from Asha. They can speak both." She said, gesturing to them. "Asha, this is Petra. She is an old friend of mine." She said, sliding back into Brigid. The child, Asha, still stared at her like she was a demonic beast, or perhaps a bomb about to explode.

"Hello, Asha." She said, with all royal decorum, offering them a bow, which brought a searing blush to their face. "Um!" Managed Asha, "Dorothea didn't say she knew the Crown Princess!" She babbled out in a rush. She smiled down at her. "Yes, well, Madame Dorothea and I are old friends, from my time on the mainland. She is very dear to me." She said softly, stroking at one of the wooden rings on her finger, its curves and whorls marking it as one of her royal regalia, making Asha all the more starstruck.

"Okay, Asha, you've met the princess. Now Petra and I have private words to have." She said with a tint of laughter to her voice, shooing her off.

"I-it was nice to meet you, Highest Jadeheart!" Asha barked out, offering a 90-degree bow before sprinting off, startling a surprised laugh out of Dorothea.

"Goodness! Highest Jadeheart, you say? Clearly, I must watch my manners!" She teased, pulling Petra by the hand backstage past a mostly uninterested cast who did not recognize who she was as they made their way to Dorothea's room. Dorothea pushed Petra in, and locked the door behind them. With Petra successfully secreted to her rooms, Dorothea's bravado had nowhere to go, and she merely stood awkwardly before the crown princess, clutching at her arm nervously. "You... wanted to speak in private?"

Petra nodded, giving an audible gulp. "Dorothea." She breathed again, like a prayer. "You look beautiful.” She said, eyes scanning over her in traditional Brigid garb. Something hot sank down into the bottom of her stomach, at seeing her in her people’s styles, like a local. Like someone who could live here.

“Why have you come here, Dorothea?” She asked softly, delicately, cognizant of Dorothea seeing the way she was looking at her, and too fascinated to care.

Dorothea blushed prettily before responding: "What do you mean? Performing, of course! Anna offered me a job in her troupe and I accepted." She said, puffing her chest out proudly. "I've been showing the commonfolk the beauty of the opera!" She continued, blustering. Petra stared at her with those sharp, observant eyes, unaffected by her posturing.

"Is that the only reason you are here?" She asked, stepping towards her, boxing her in against the door, hardly a foot separating them now.

"Well -- that is, I of course was excited to get to see my far-flung friends, you, um, more than others..." she murmured, voice suddenly much quieter, face burning properly now, color high on her cheeks. Her back was flat against the door.

"I did not forget my promise, Dorothea." She murmured, face inching closer. "I swore that I would show you Brigid, and why I love it so." She all but whispered now, hot breath ghosting over her as Petra stared at Dorothea's lips, and Dorothea at hers.

"I--that is, I wasn't sure you would... you're a princess, and..." Dorothea babbled, staring at Petra, with her strong arms, her flat stomach, her stunning braids, her everything. The night was suddenly much warmer than it had been.

"I am the crown princess of Brigid." She said, not quite sure where her confidence was coming from, but riding it for all it was worth. She switched to Brigidian. "And I seem to remember you being interested in romancing nobility." she whispered in her ear, arms to either side of Dorothea.

"P-P-P-Petra, what are you saying?" She gasped, face burning. This was moving so fast! She wanted to see her, talk about their feelings, maybe see if after all these years things had changed, but now all of this... well, she got her answer on if it had changed.

"The war is over, Dorothea. I am crown princess of Brigid. I would not have to risk losing you, anymore." Petra pulled back, giving Dorothea room to breathe after nearly having her self-immolate from her blush alone. “I could give you what you deserve.” She continued, locking eyes with her. She switched to the mainland's tongue. "I know things have changed. But my feelings from then have not. I could never be honest with you. I could not tell you then. I was not brave. But I have had years to be alone. To wonder at what I could have had, and I cannot lose you again." She took a shaky breath.

"I would do anything you ask of me, give you anything, if it does not stop me ruling my country. I..." she knelt down on her knee, looking up at her as she stared down, eyes wide in disbelief. "I know this is much. I know this is fast. But I know you are what I want. If you would have me, I would be your bride. You do not need to give me an answer. But I cannot keep that secret a moment longer." She said, eyes shining as she stared up at her.

She had her hands clasped across her mouth, tears streaking down her face. She so badly wanted to touch her, to sooth her, but she knew she had already pushed so hard, so fast, perhaps foolishly but certainly thoughtlessly. She did not want to scare her further. She looked up at her, willing her eyes to show how much she cared.

"But I am a street rat, Petra!" She moaned, vowels stretching as a sob crawled out of her throat and she wrapped her arms around herself. She leaned against the door, tears staining her face. "How can you want someone like that?" She asked, confused and in denial.

"Because you are more than a street rat. You are Dorothea. Prima donna. War hero. The woman I love above all others." Petra said softly as she stood up again, gently placing her arms on Dorothea's shoulders. "You are more than your origins. They never mattered to me. I will smite any who make it a problem. Please. Let me show you my sincerity." She whispered, as Dorothea's eyes widened in realization.

"...Okay." She whispered, and curiously, was the first to lean forward and close her eyes.

And then Dorothea kissed her. It was a kind kiss, loving, and chaste, but the way Dorothea held her tight left no doubt that chastity was not a thing she was committed to. Petra kissed her like she was drowning. like she was air. In that too-brief moment, all that came to either of their minds was that it was much easier to show their feelings with actions than words. Petra gently, regretfully pulled back, staring into her eyes. She said nothing, her eyes begging for her answer.

"This was the last stop along the tour. I'll tender my resignation with Anna, tell her I'm staying." She said, with more confidence than she felt. "You will… I can stay with you, if I stay?" She asked, voice small and pitiful, a street rat once more, disbelieving that someone would want her, would want to give her a home.

"Of course, my love," Petra whispered fiercely, pulling her tight. "You will stay in the palace. You will want for nothing. Never again." Dorothea closed her eyes and leaned into Petra's embrace, heart soaring. It was happening. This madness that overtook them, it was real. It had always been real. But.

"I have one request." Said Dorothea, sliding into her most formal Brigid, pulling back to stare her down. Petra smiled, looking at her in confusion.

"Of course, dearest. I meant it, whatever you desire." She said, smiling at her, a cold drop of nervousness sitting at the bottom of her spine.

"I want to adopt Asha." She said simply. Petra blinked, widened at the realization of what precisely was being asked of her. "They are like me. Asha is kind. They are smart. They are clever. And they need people who love them. I think we can be those people." She said seriously,

Petra was silent, for a moment, eyes glazing in thought. She looked back at Dorothea, and gave a soft smile. "Well. I would need an heir..." she murmured. "When they are 18, if we are agreed, I could crown them." She said softly, seeming to grow more fond of the idea as time went on.

They were quiet, for a time, simply holding each other in her dressing room, all silent save for the soft sound of conversation heard through the door. Both of them stood in the weight of their decisions, of what they had done just then in that small room. Almost by accident, Dorothea had found a wife. Completely by accident, Petra had been given an heir. As if reading each other's minds, they made their way to the modest couch in the room, flopping gracelessly onto it.

"There will, of course, be some work involved to formalize everything." Petra said in Brigid. "But that can wait, I think."

Dorothea nodded, staring up into space. "Go home. I'll close things up with Anna, and I'll pack my things. Pick me up in the morning?" She said, with a shy smile, as if even those words were unthinkable. "We can break the news to Asha together." Petra nodded.

"It will be so." She confirmed, a giddy smile on her face.

But before all of that, before the world caught up with them, they simply sat on the couch, heads leaning against one another, hand in hand. If anyone knocked on the door, they were not interested in answering.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading this! It is my sincere hope you enjoyed it. Comments are my favorite thing in the world, with kudos closely trailing. If you'd offer either one I'd appreciate it!


	2. Families Formed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dawn comes again. Plans are put into action. Asha is given momentous news. The world keeps turning.

When Dorothea had found Anna in the cashier's office counting the coinage from the door tickets, she was surprised by how well she took the news of her resignation. Little more than a sly smile and a pat on the cheek, and she was a free woman. "Remember me when you're impacting trade policy, mmm?" She said, with a glint in her eye that said she was only half joking, and perhaps that she had been planning this from the beginning. She picked up the strong box and wandered away to her rooms, humming one of the night's pieces under her breath.

Dorothea stood alone in the small booth, struck once again with the feverish unreality of the situation she had found herself in. Petra... Petra wanted her. More than that she wanted her hand in marriage. She was going to be living in a palace, with Asha if they wanted. In the course of an hour her life had... change felt like such a small world, it was a revolution, a cataclysm. She should be delirious with joy, but despite herself a cold stone of fear and nervousness had nestled itself uncomfortably in the pit of her stomach. She sighed, and left the booth to make her way to her room and begin packing.

Despite her public persona, Dorothea lived quite humbly. When she had been accepted at Garreg Mach, she had bankrolled her tuition in no small part thanks to the sale of nearly all of her dresses, collectibles, everything that wouldn't have come with her, and over the years she had never had the chance to rebuild material wealth as she had in the apartment near the opera house.

This made packing mercifully simple. Edward, the cactus Bernadetta had gifted her before they parted ways watched over her as she packed the clothing Anna had given her, make up box sliding in, cushioned by her clothing as the canvas sack which bore most of her worldly possessions slowly filled up. Her mind wandered to the memories that lived inside some of the humble pieces. The Eagles had all given each other tokens to remember each other by as they parted ways, and Dorothea had kept them all, Edward among one of her favorites.

Ferdinand's brooch, marking her as an employee of the Prime Minister's office, if she needed to open doors. Hubert's fountain pen. Caspar's clumsy-but-sincerely-made wooden good luck charm, a chunky amulet he said "for sure was meant for you!"... her heart softened, thinking back to her friends. Linhardt's text on the history of the Adrestian opera, Edelgard's lovingly written letter, filled with words of love she had never spoken aloud. The Professor had not given anyone gifts at the class's insistence, as she did not need to. She had gotten them through the war alive, and that was the greatest gift of all. And she probably would have gotten them all gifts to make their own look paltry by comparison, her gift-giving prowess the stuff of legends.

Gently she put all of her memories away, lingering on the hunting knife Petra had given her all those years ago. With its doe-skin sheath and its gleaming edge, even a neophyte of traditional weapons knew that it was a masterpiece of a weapon. She had kept it strapped to her thigh on many a trip, its weight reassuring never mind the fact that if anyone dared she could just as easily zap them through to next week.

And simple as that, she was... packed. Her worldly possessions confined to her canvas sack. Despite herself she felt a certain amount of shame. It had not occurred to her before, but knowing she was going to be a guest at the palace, her canvas sack felt downright shabby. But, this was her.

As a youth she had wanted a nobleman to propose to her, offer her a comfortable life far removed from her shameful past, but years of plenty in the opera, years of violence during the war had made those worries so much more... ephemeral. She had fought for the Empire in its most celebrated strike force and had been given a more-than-generous stipend as thanks. Even without -- without Petra, Goddess, this was all so _crazy_ \-- even without her she did not have to worry about providing for herself.

Her youthful terror had faded. She was still beautiful. Her voice still high and clear. But there was no longer a ticking clock demanding she get married before her beauty faded. She was Dorothea. She let that sentiment run through her and give her strength. She was Dorothea, and no matter what any Brigid noble thought of her, she was amazing. She had lived through more in her 30 years than most did their whole lives, and anyone should thank their lucky stars if she deigned to give them the time of day. They could write an opera about her exploits, and now it would end with a wedding because Petra wanted her.

Briefly, she glimpsed herself on-stage with Petra, in their opera-wedding. She sang for her bride, the audience clapping and cheering as she finished serenading her beloved, bouquets of flowers storming the stage as they both smiled at the audience and Petra swept her off her feet in a searing kiss.

Shaking herself out of her reverie, She placed her sack by her bed. She changed into a light cotton chemise and a pair of sleep shorts and once done, she crawled into bed. She was exhausted, and things were not likely to ease up any time soon. She needed her beauty sleep if she was going to dazzle the palace.

\---

The palanquin ride back to the palace was one of the most claustrophobic rides she had experienced in all her life. She wanted to break out of it and shout her joy to the world. Petra Macneary had found her true love, she wanted to cry. Petra Macneary was in love, and they loved her back, and they were going to be together forever, and she would have an heir and she wanted the world to know.

But, decorum did not allow for such announcements to be made from the top of a palanquin, and so she clasped her hands tightly in the darkness, the jostling of the palanquin a pleasant distraction. There was so much to do. Rooms to prepare, news to spread, gadflies to swat.

Oh, there had been suitors. Men with rings and bangles heralding their nobility, egos so swollen Bernadetta could have popped them with her embroidery pin, who believed the status of their birth guaranteed her hand in marriage. Foolishness. Her advisors had made solid cases, that this suitor would stabilize their trade routes, this other solidifying her loyalties to the Shamanic council. She had discarded them, solving her problems through shrewd negotiation and unyielding will instead. She was the High Jadeheart, and she would not use herself as some bargaining chip. She would get all they offered and more, whether they liked it or not. She was the finest warrior the royal line had seen in over a century, and she would not be cowed by the entitlements of her bloated nobles.

Gently, she grasped at one necklace among the many she had worn, almost hidden beneath her beads of office. Dorothea's gift to her, a gold chain with a soaring dove made of that same gold. Doves were a sign of peace in Adrestia, she had said. A sign of all they had fought for together. She had teased her with watery eyes, saying that whenever she looked out her pretty palace window that she could remember that the peace she saw was because of them. Petra had hugged her, voice quavering as she thanked her. They had held each other for a long time after that. Her heart hurt at the memory. But no more.

This would be the last time she left her. Tomorrow, she would return, and they would be together. She would meet Asha properly, ask them of their history, their likes, dislikes. They would have a child to care for. She was High Jadeheart; she had never allowed herself flights of fancy, but even moreso now. She had an heir to care for, a wife to love and respect.

...Perhaps a wedding to plan. Dorothea had not explicitly given her an answer, but she felt confident that assuming she didn't wake up from this dream, that a wedding would be somewhere in their nebulous future.

The palanquin sat down, sliding door opening as one of her servants bowed, offered his hand. She took it, staring out at the palace grounds in the darkness with new eyes. Dorothea would see this all for the first time soon. Would she be enchanted by the gardens, the architecture? Displeased by the needless grandeur? Her stomach was full of butterflies. Whatever happened she wanted to see for herself how she would react. She wanted to see how Dorothea reacted to every little thing.

She made her way to her chambers, a handmaid on-hand to help her remove her beads of office, and change her into her silky sleepwear, lavender and flowing, a delicate dress fluttering in the breeze, chaste and refreshingly light. An allowance for the tropical weather. She sighed, dismissing her handmaid and sitting down by her vanity, slowly brushing out her hair from its time in her elaborate braids. When Dorothea was here, would she do this for her, like back at Garreg Mach?

Would Petra do it for her in turn? She felt her cheeks burn at the thought. She had looked so beautiful, in Brigid clothing... she kept thinking of how her skin shone against the deep red, the warm gold of her top, the way her skirts hid and accentuated her slender legs... she imagined her in proper braids, imagined running her fingers through her silky hair as she made them for her.

She had to fight the urge to leave and run back to the speaking grounds and bring her back to see how she would look right that second. She palmed her face ruefully. She really did have it bad. She took a cleansing breath.

Tomorrow, she would wake up. Her scheduling advisor would tell her of the day's plans as her handmaids dressed her, and she would cheerily notify her of the change in plans. She would tell her handmaids to prepare the rooms adjacent to her, and she would clear her schedule, a rare treat. She would travel back to the speaking grounds. She would find Dorothea, and they would find Asha. They would make their offer. She was hesitant to truly believe they would accept. They looked to have a good life in the caravan. Knowing what she knew about being royalty, she was hesitant to force that on anyone. Ultimately, it would be their choice.

This was good, though. She had a plan. Or, the beginnings of one. She put down her brush, and she snuffed the candelabra which had lit the room. She made her way to her too-large bed. Would it be presumptuous to hope she would wish to sleep with her? She shook her head. It was not her decision. One step at a time. She sighed and curled up beneath the silken covers. She closed her eyes, and willed her mind into stillness. She still had her father's idol around her neck, and she gripped it. She prayed to her father to guide her.

\---

The sun always caught the speaking grounds first. It was the highest point in the city, planted on top of the Spider, the massive hill that the city was built around. The palace sat in its long shadow, as did the whole of the city. Trails up towards its top where the speaking grounds lay spidered down from the top of the hill, eight paths leading into the city that had grown around the hill, buildings lining its incline and moving outwards in all directions.

Asha had found herself atop the Spider many times over the years, either to hawk her wares or to find unsuspecting marks who would unwittingly fund her next meal. To be meant to be up here, however, was an unusual state of events. Like anywhere else in the city, she was barely tolerated. There was no reason to spend time here unless she got something out of it.

And she had gotten a lot out of coming up and doing this weird foreign "opera" for Dorothea. Dorothea had fed her, given her new clothes, given her a job... she'd been up on top of this hill for three weeks now, and she'd slept on an actual bed each night, with a full belly. It was the kind of lovely existence she was all too accustomed to having ripped away from her at this point. She just enjoyed it while it lasted and filched glass coins when no one was looking, preparing her "back on the streets" fund.

If even her parents could just disappear, her house and her life gone in a flash of fire and smoke, Papa dying with her in his arms protecting her to the last, how could she expect anything else to last?

Asha opened her eyes, staring sightlessly up at the roof over her head, smelling smoke and burning flesh.

Oh. Breakfast. She shook herself awake and slid silently out of bed, getting changed into her work clothes to make her way to the mess. She was short and tired and all she wanted was a banana and an egg or two. She continued her silent walk, eyes still bleary as she got in line.

As her mind slowly ground back into liveliness, she continued to process how crazy yesterday was. She had met the _High Jadeheart_. Dorothea knew the High Jadeheart and had introduced her to them. That's it, nothing else was needed to make a day crazy. She had met royalty. Her, some urchin, meeting the High Jadeheart. It was the set-up for some kind of dirty joke if her time in taverns washing dishes had taught her anything.

She made her way to the front of the line, and the cook handed her a plate, two bananas, three eggs and a slice of ham. They winked at her before shooing her off. She made her way to an open spot on the communal long-benches, getting to work peeling one of her hard-boiled delights. Crick-crack went the shell before she salted her egg. She took a bite, a smile creeping into the edges of her mouth. Good. Her stomach grumbled appreciatively.

A woman sat down across from her, green eyes twinkling with some secret joke. "Good morning, Asha." She said gently, smiling.

Asha looked up at her, eating her egg. She chewed and swallowed. "Mornin'." She said neutrally.

"Did you rest well?" She asked, fingers picking at one of her sleeves. She was in green this time, forest green with more gold detailing, a lot like the shirt she had on yesterday. They both looked great on her, she observed without opinion. She noticed the bag sitting beside her, strings still wrapped around her off hand.

She shrugged, taking a bit out of her banana. "Fine. Have fun with the princess?" She asked, getting to the heart of the issue. They were both expecting the question to come up, may as well get to it. Dorothea blushed prettily, even her blush complimenting her shirt.

"It was good. We caught up. Made some plans." She said, mysteriously. Asha cocked an eyebrow. That was new. Dorothea was the biggest gossip she knew, she could make her breakfast sound exciting. The way she described her private audience with the crown princess was downright boring. There was something going on here. "'Kaaaay." She said distrustfully, before popping another peeled egg into her mouth, well salted.

"Oh, by the way. Can you come with me somewhere after you finish breakfast? I've got something important we need to do." She said, shy smile sliding back onto her face as she nibbled at some plantain chips. Asha sighed, put-upon but accepting of her... friend? her coworker's curious mood.

"Fine. Haven't said no to you yet, have I?" She said, a lilt that might have been teasing creeping into her otherwise monotone voice. Dorothea clapped her hands delightedly, shining smile bursting onto her face.

"Lovely! You will not be saddened." She promised in her shaky Brigid, before getting herself under control and eating another plantain chip, watching her eat with uncomfortable intensity. Asha increased her pace to end this strange encounter sooner than later. When her plate was empty, she stood up, quickly trotting to the trash and putting her plate on top and moving back to the bench they sat on.

"Alright, so what is it?" She asked, leaning onto her palm as she sat back down, eyes staring at Dorothea with piercing intensity. She practically preened at the attention, still keeping that teasing smile in place, like the cat who caught the mouse.

"It's..." Dorothea began, before her mannerisms suddenly sobered up. She looked at her with something unreadable in her eyes, something naked. She'd never seen her look so vulnerable, as if Asha had the power to hurt her suddenly. Asha was alarmed. What was this? Her breakfast roiled unhappily in her stomach. "What?" Asked Asha nervously. This was Dorothea, she was just an urchin. What was going on? Dorothea's hand gently reached over to hers over the table, stroking it. "It's important. Come with me?" She asked, voice small, and weak, and nothing like the Dorothea she'd gotten to know over the past month.

Asha gave a shaky nod, letting Dorothea lead her, Asha handily distracted by the incredible softness of the diva's hand. What... what was happening? She felt like she was still dreaming, but it wasn't about fires, or loss, it was about Dorothea and the secrets she knew she hid beneath her façade. They made their way backstage, where it was nearly empty this early in the morning. Work didn't start for another half-hour. Dorothea led her so delicately, turning to watch her every few steps, watching her climb the stairs with tension in the corners of her eyes.

Asha said nothing. Whatever was happening, it was going to happen whether she lightened the mood or not, and she doubted she could. If something bothered Dorothea enough to get her like this, then it was too serious for wordplay to fix. Quietly, Dorothea led them to her room backstage, watching for witnesses like a hawk, quickly pushing her into the room, closing the door behind and locking it with the lock Asha had always felt was much too sturdy for the room it guarded. But then she saw Crown Princess Petra Macneary in front of her once more, and lightning bolts of electric frost crawled from the roots of her teeth down to the pit of her stomach, eyes wide and suddenly fearful to see her again.

She was dressed much more casually now, more like a huntress. Fine brown leathers, knife at her hip, hair pulled back in a few conservative braids, the only signs of her office the driftwood ring she wore on her finger and the few purple beads she had woven into her hair, both painted with symbols of devotion to the spirits in the same purple as her tattoo.

"Asha." Said the High Jadeheart, her knees buckling immediately in deference, Dorothea, still standing, walked over to her side. Petra gestured for her to get up. "Rise, Asha." Said Petra, voice soft and gentle but with an undeniable undercurrent of command.

"Asha," began Dorothea, voice soft, gripping Petra's hand and squeezing it. "Could you please go sit on the couch?" She said, Brigid as clean and formal as Asha had ever heard from her. Too confused to question, she obeyed, walking over to the couch and taking a seat. Dorothea followed her, kneeling across from where she sat, their eyes on the same level. Petra came behind her, kneeling as well.

"Asha..." she said again, voice shaky, "You are a wonderful person." She whispered, eyes glittering in the half-light of the lamps attached to the vanity. "I -- you see, when I was a girl --" She tried again, aborting her line of thought. She gave a bitter huff of laughter. "This is not going how I wanted." She whispered softly, a tear streaking down her face to Asha's alarm. Petra gently wrapped an arm around Dorothea, pulling her tight, the both of them looking at her, they were _looking_ at her what was _happening_ \--

"Asha. Dorothea has told me a lot about you. She has told me of your intellect. Your kindness, your ingenuity, and your strength of will. She told me a great many things about you, and I care for her opinion very much." It was Petra's turn to take a breath. "Asha, I tell you this because you are important to Dorothea -- my Dorothea. I intend to marry her, and bring her with me to the palace." She said, her voice firm and unwavering, her eyes looking at Asha, who blinked, uncomprehending.

"Wh--what? Wh-why are you telling me?" Asked Asha, teeth chattering from the sheer tension in the room. Dorothea and Petra were getting married? Dorothea was leaving? Why would they tell her? She's just some dumb urchin.

"But Asha I don't want you to leave." Dorothea rushed out, eyes bright and fearful. "I -- I want you to stay with me. When I go with her." She said, both her hands holding Petra's for support. "Asha... I don't want you to go back to the streets. I want you to come back with me. With us. To -- to the palace. If-if you w-want t-to." She said, voice shaking, mouth quivering as she finished her thought.

Asha's mind had completely vacated her. She didn't know what these noises were. Her ears were ringing, her vision blurring. She was really glad she had sat down. "What--" She managed to whisper, heart -- she had said hammering before and thought nothing of the expression, but that is what it truly felt like this time, a hammer bashing the inside of her chest and sending fragments of ribs bouncing through her.

"Asha," said Petra, soothing, hand placing itself firmly on her knee. "Stay with us, cub." She said softly, thumb working soft circles into her knee, dragging her back into her body. "Breathe slowly and steadily. Retake control of your body." She continued, voice low and hypnotic. Slowly, she did. Her vision cleared, her light-headedness fading away, only a mild chest ache remaining. She said nothing, but nodded for them to continue.

"Asha," began Dorothea again. She took a deep breath. "We want to adopt you." She said simply, firmly. She put all of her sincerity behind those words, eyes sharp and clear and without a hint of deception. Asha blinked once. Twice. Slowly, she turned over to the High Jadeheart kneeling here in front of her, eyes demanding confirmation. She nodded.

"We do, Asha. If you agree, we would bring you back with us to the palace. You would become our ward." She said, starting slow. Of course they would get more in-depth, but the poor child was obviously barely holding on as it was.

She looked back at the both of them. Their clasped hands. The tears brimming in Dorothea's eyes, Petra's firm hand on her knee still. "Let me get this straight," she began shakily. Petra nodded for her to go on.

"Dorothea, the lady who hired me to translate a weird story from Adrestia, is in love with the High Jadeheart." She began. Her father had taught her some logic, ways to order her thoughts before her life had ended. She had to set up her givens. They both nodded.

"And now Dorothea, the lady who hired me and the High Jadeheart want to adopt me and bring me back to the palace." She confirmed. They nodded again.

"As a maid?" She asked, trying to make sense of this whole... thing. Dorothea was not great at Brigid. She must have used the wrong word.

"No, Asha, no." Dorothea denied, unable to control herself any longer, voice rushed. Her hands clasped her cheeks, making her shiver and fight to suppress the urge to fight off the foreign touch, so much touching, at least the Jadeheart had kept it to her extremities -- "No, as our daughter. As our child, Asha. We want to adopt you and bring you with us to the palace." She clarified, more tears sliding down her cheeks. "Sweet Asha, I love you. I know we have only known each other a short time, but I know you. I see you, because I was like you once." She managed, finally finding her words. "I see your potential. I see the beauty in you. I want you to come with us so we can be together as a family. So that I, so we can see you grow, and shine, and leave everyone as stricken as I am with the beauty of you."

She let go of Asha's cheeks, pulling herself back, taking a deep breath. "If -- if you do not want that, then... that is okay too. If you want I can have Anna take you on as an understudy properly. You could travel the world. Make a good living." She said, clearly trying to be even-handed despite her obvious bias.

"But we would rather you stayed with us." Petra chimed in, eyes warm and wide and free of judgment. "The choice is yours, Asha. But Dorothea and I -- we want to know you. Want to help you grow." She said, with the force and decorum of one who earned the title of High Jadeheart. "We do this not for pity. But because we see your potential. Who you could be. And we wish to be the ones to help you realize that potential."

Asha sat back, doing all she possibly could to keep her head from floating away. She understood what they were saying. She did. But the pieces were not clicking, somehow. Something didn't make sense, but she didn't know if that was because something was missing or because she had gone briefly mad and was hallucinating all of this.

"You would have me be your heir." She said, as calmly as she could manage. She could do this. She could figure this out. Petra nodded. "Should you wish it, on your 18th Nameday." Said Petra, voice pleasantly clean and sterile, a simple exchange of information. She could work with that. She couldn't -- she couldn't deal with whatever was brewing inside of her chest right now. One thing at a time. She was 11 years old. She could figure this out.

"And -- and you'd teach me, and train me." She continued. They both nodded. "In whatever you are passionate about, Asha." Dorothea confirmed. Asha nodded, taking another breath. She stayed silent for a time, closing her eyes.

"I do not know... how I am supposed to accept this proposal. All I know is what I see in front of me. And I think only a fool would not accept. So I will simply say I accept." She said simply, her voice small. Dorothea put her hands to her mouth, more tears running down her face, a soft noise crawling out of her throat. "Ohhhh..." she said, voice high and keening. "Oh, Asha, please, may I hug you?" She all but begged. Asha was -- perhaps not comfortable with such a thing. But Dorothea had asked, instead of taking it as she had seen her do with others, as free and open with her physical affection as she was with her teasing and her wealth. She sensed she was trying. So, she nodded, and braced herself. They were in this together, she supposed. Give and take.

Like a shot, Dorothea lunged, wrapping her arms around her tightly, soft hiccupping sobs crawling out of Dorothea's chest as she stroked Asha's hair, cheek pressed to the crown of her head, holding her just shy of too tight.

The strangest, most uncomfortable part to Asha was that she didn't hate the feeling. Especially when Petra leaned in as well, much more gently wrapping herself around her, so she was completely surrounded by the two women. She supposed she should get used to that thought. Of having them around her, protecting her. It was all vague, and dreamlike. Her decision had not come close to sinking in. She still felt like this was all a dream.

Like she would wake up, and smell smoke and burning flesh and everything would be like it had been ever since her life fell apart. She could not trust this. But... Dorothea was nice. Really nice. And... she still had no idea how to think about the High Jadeheart. This was lunacy. A fantasy, a daydream of the most self-indulgent kind.

But they were warm and firm against her. They did not feel like smoke.

She wasn't sure when it happened, but her cheeks were wet, too. A soft whistling sound crawled out of her throat as she took in soft, gasping breaths, and her arms wrapped around Dorothea. She felt like a traitor. She remembered hugging her Mama like this. Dorothea wasn't Mama, but she felt so wonderful, and she had missed this so much. And Mama... would want her to be happy, wouldn't she? Her heart was a tangle of thorns and brambles, every turn having her cut herself on the feelings she had locked away, preoccupied as she was with surviving. But this felt so right. So, she let it happen. She had a lifetime to figure it all out. If she had to she could leave.

They stayed there, hugging each other close, for a measure of time none of them could accurately measure. Slowly though, the tension seemed to leave the room. The air cooled. Tears dried. They were left back on that couch once more, exhausted. Another massive life change in this little room. Dorothea would probably find it a little funny, if she had the energy for such pointless observations. Petra was the one to break the silence.

"When you are ready, we should go to your room and pack your things, Asha." She said gently, looking at her but refraining from touching her. Asha nodded. "Yeah. It's not much, it'll only take a second." She said, too tired to be formal. Slowly, she hopped off the couch, the women who would be her guardians following behind her. They stepped out of the room, closing the door behind them, off to start their life together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I'm not quite sure where this came from, but I won't lie! Friendly encouragement sure made me get it out faster! Thank you to all my lovely commenters and kudo-ers, it really gave my writing drive a shot in the arm. As ever, I do still love those so don't be shy about them, and if you have any questions I'm happy to answer.


	3. Paths Converged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The girls walk to the palace. They grow closer, and meet one of the important people who would be in their life.

It had been as Asha had promised. Her bunk was messy, but ordered in the ways that mattered. Sheets undone, last night's sleepwear on top, with the sack holding her worldly possessions hidden smartly underneath the bed.

Asha grabbed her clothes, slid under the bed and returned with a sack much akin to Dorothea's. Simple as that, they were ready to leave the opera and the speaking grounds behind.

Anna waited for them by the exit to the grounds, her usual cheery smile and immaculately clean merchant's outfit on display.

"Hey, gang!" She greeted with a happy wave. "You didn't think you'd get to sneak off without a goodbye, did you?"

"Hi, Anna." Said Dorothea softly, a wave of fondness washing over her. Whether she knew it or not, she was the one who started this chain of events on its way. As such, there was only one reasonable response.

Dorothea stepped forward, and wrapped her arms around the shorter woman. She nuzzled into her, whispering in her ear: "Thank you for everything, Anna. Stay safe." She murmured softly, before pulling back. Anna looked a bit dazed, but with a happy smile on her face.

"I could say the same to you, prima donna." She said cheekily, before turning to the other members of their party. "And you all!" She cried, pointing at them accusingly. "You take care of my Dory! She's a delicate flower!" She cried, stamping her foot. After that outburst she reined herself in however. Her postured straightened and she nodded to Petra.

"High Jadeheart, thank you for your hospitality. And... congratulations." She said, warm smile on her face. Petra returned the nod, a gentle blush sitting high on her cheeks. She turned to Asha next.

"And you too, little Asha. I've liked having you about, but clearly you're off to bigger and better things. Trust your instincts, remember where you came from and do your best and you'll do just fine." Asha nodded, eyes serious and with as much decorum as she could muster in her staff uniform.

Words of wisdom imparted, she gave a courtly bow, gesturing towards the wooden gates flung open before them. "Now, off with you, before I ask you all to stay!" She said.

With a final loving smile from Dorothea, they were off once more. She didn't know when they would see Anna next, but she doubted that would be the last they'd heard of the merchant.

There was no carriage or palanquin for them, or even guards; it seemed Petra had managed to sneak off to find them on her own. The road was well worn in front of them, wide and clear, foliage to either side.

"We will walk for an hour or so to reach the palace," stated Petra from Dorothea's side, Asha next to Dorothea as they walked together down the path. "I had hoped we could use that time to get to know one another a bit better." She continued neutrally.

"I think that's a lovely idea," said Dorothea, hand to her chest. "Let's make a game of it. We'll all take turns asking someone a question, how's that?" She offered, looking to Asha for approval, bright smile on her face.

Asha shrugged, noncommittal. "Seems fine, I guess." She offered, trying and failing to seem uninterested in the way only children trying to seem cool could manage. Petra took her ensuing silence as a chance to speak up.

"I will start, then. Asha, how old are you?" She asked, eyes straight ahead. She had noticed that Asha could be sensitive about things like contact, and Dorothea mentioned difficulty speaking of their past, so she wanted to start slow. This was not the first orphan she had spoken with in their long time at war.

"I'm 11." Asha said softly, offering no further information and staring down at her feet.

"How did you learn to speak Adrestian?" Asked Dorothea, not shy in staring her down awaiting a response.

Asha did not speak for an uncomfortably long time. Dorothea was about to ask again when she finally spoke:

"Papa taught me." She said, voice shifting from indifferent to uncomfortably monotone.

The answer instantly left an uncomfortable pall weighing them down. Dorothea gave a nervous titter, trying to break the tension. "Th-that is interesting! P-Petra is the one who started to teach me Brigid." Dorothea volunteered, trying to veer away from the topic. Petra made a noise of agreement.

"She was not very good at it, to start." Volunteered Petra, fond smile in place as she looked at her love. Dorothea, honor impinged upon, had no recourse but to give an affronted gasp and gently cuff Petra's arm to their mutual amusement.

"It's my turn, right?" Said Asha, breaking up their gentle rough-housing effortlessly. Petra nodded. "That is correct."

With serious eyes, Asha stared Dorothea down, leaving Dorothea a bit uncomfortable. When she wanted to, Asha was able to level an uncomfortable amount of attentiveness on her target.

"Why did you say I was like you?" She asked, tone carefully level.

Dorothea took a soft breath, question unexpected. This little one didn't pull punches, did they?

"Ahem, well. In my youth, I, too, had been forced to live on the streets. My mentor, Manuela, took me on as her understudy at the Opera House when I was your age." She said, confident but nervous.

There were other reasons, a thousand reasons, but she could not very well get into them all. That was the clearest and most obvious. She could only hope Asha would not take her answer the wrong way.

Asha simply nodded, face betraying nothing. Petra leaned into Dorothea's ear and whispered: "She'll be a good negotiator." With a certain amount of mirth, attempting to defuse the whirling train of thought she saw Dorothea grappling with.

Around them, civilization slowly materialized out of the forestry as the Spider leveled out, from steep hill into something people could actually build on. Structures began to line the road, and a bit further on, stalls in front of those buildings as they made their way into the upscale districts which ringed the palace.

Soon the smell of cooking food began to fill the air, the city-center bustling. It was noon, and the sun was shining in a cloudless sky. Looking out at the people and the buildings around her with a gimlet eye honed from war, she could not help the tenseness in her shoulders.

Any one of these people could be an assassin. Any one of these people could mean them harm. Intellectually she knew that none of them would be, and anyone foolish enough would try would be dead before they made it three steps from them, but the fear still lived. Whether cocooned in a shell of guards or standing in her leathers guarding a child the fear was always the same.

She took a cleansing breath, pointing out a stall along the road. "The samosas smell good. Did we want some?" She asked, cleverly using her question.

Dorothea was the first to answer. "Mmm, samosas! I've only had them once before, when Asha brought me to a restaurant when we met! I'd love to try them again." She cheered, turning to Asha.

"Did you want some too, Asha? If not, we could share a half-plate maybe." She offered gently. Asha looked at them with her wide, attentive eyes, staring them down.

Slowly, she nodded. "I would like some samosas. Please." She said. "Pork if they have it. Otherwise potato." Petra smiled at her, nodding as she walked over to the stall to place their orders, the two of them getting out of the road and leaning on the side of a building. With Petra away, Dorothea turned to Asha.

"Do... do you like Petra?" She asked softly. "I know you have not known her very long, but..." She trailed off grasping at her upper arm, stopping herself before she could start rambling.

Asha answered readily, for once. "She seems nice." She offered, staring at Petra as she handed over a few painted glass coins from a small purse she had hidden on a string 'round her neck. The stall owner soon began preparing the savory meat dumplings.

"She is." Said Dorothea, gazing at Petra with a look Asha had never seen on her before. "She is strong, and caring, and patient, and thoughtful. She will care for us both with all her heart." She said, with a soft certainty that Asha could not find it in her to question.

"You must really care for her." She observed, her voice soft. Dorothea nodded.

"For years." She confirmed. The gentleness of her voice, the quiet sincerity of her words made something strange wriggle in Asha's chest. It made her feel queer, and odd, and she made her feelings known as eloquently as she could.

"That's gross." She said, with a cheeky grin on her face, showing off her teeth.

Dorothea blinked, turning to her. Her mouth formed a small "o" of surprise, seeing the beautiful smile Asha was giving her. She'd never seen her smile like that before. She smiled in turn, unable to stop it from turning into a matching silly grin.

"Yes. It's very gross." She confirmed. "And one day, you might end up being just as gross as us with someone you like." She winked, prompting an exaggerated splutter of distaste from Asha.

Petra stepped in front of them all, rueful smile on her face. "I appear to have missed something." She observed, passing the others their plates.

"Oh, Asha just doesn't understand the finer points of love and courting." Dorothea said airily, quickly sticking her tongue out at Asha while Petra was preoccupied taking a bite of the aromatic food in front of her.

"Wh-hey!" Cried Asha, stricken and pointing at Asha with her plate in her other hand.

"What is it, Asha?" Asked Petra, tilting her head in confusion, a small drop off sauce at the corner of her mouth.

"She stuck her tongue out at me!" She cried, shaking her finger at Dorothea in emphasis. Petra gave a soft huff of laughter.

"Oh, dear. I didn't realize I'd adopted two children today. Dorothea, apologize." She said, smiling at the woman in question. Dorothea smiled back before giving a put-upon sigh.

"Ugh, fiiine. I'm sooooorry." She said, long-suffering, before taking a bite of one of her own samosas.

Asha narrowed her eyes at them both, feeling like she had been played somehow but without the wherewithal to figure out how. She ate her samosa, eyes narrowed in a distrustful glare at them both the whole time to Dorothea and Petra's shared amusement. Somehow, the fact that the samosa was very good only mocked her further.

Asha had no choice to avert her eyes when they got all close with Dorothea taking a napkin and cleaning up the spot of sauce off Petra's face, all gentle intimacy and loving domesticity. Gross.

They finished their meal, all of them the better for the greasy goodness resting in their bellies. They got back on the road.

"It's my turn again." Said Asha, authoritatively. They both looked at her, awaiting her question.

Asha took a deep breath, preparing herself. "What... um..." She deflated in one massive sigh. "I don't have a question yet." She grumbled, chagrined. Petra, oddly enough was the one to burst out with a single sharp bark of laughter.

"Hah! Well do not fear little cub, there will be plenty of time to sate your curiosity." She soothed as they kept walking, plates discarded along the way in a trash can.

Asha was silent for a time. This... this was nice. She couldn't remember having this much fun in a long time. As they walked, her... guardians began to speak, and their soft voices soothed her, pleasant nonsense as she stared at the gradually growing palace in the distance. They were near the gates.

Petra stepped to the front of the group, spine straightening as she walked up to a guard who saluted crisply. Of course everyone in the palace knew their princess on sight.

Dorothea and Asha were far enough away that they could not make out her words, but she could guess, if the way the guard smartly smashed the butt of his halberd against the floor thrice making the gate begin to groan open was any indication.

Petra stepped back towards the pair, spine still straight.

"The palace staff will be greeting us now. Do not be alarmed, just keep your heads high." She murmured softly to the both of them.

They all watched the gates open, both guards at attention to either side as the gates opened out into a lovingly-manicured courtyard filled with what must have been 50 people, all prostrate before them in twin rows on either side of the walkway which led into the castle proper, elevated slightly from the ground. At the top of steps onto the actual building stood an aged woman.

She had the aura of a bird of prey. From their distance they could see her eyes, sharp and attentive. Her snow white braids were immaculate, without a hair out of place. The beads she wore in it were the same purple as Petra's. She dressed in sky blue and mustard yellow robes, hands clasped in front of her showcasing her wooden bangles.

"Keep calm and be on your best behavior." Repeated Petra once more, in a conspiratorial whisper. With that final warning, Petra began to walk, posture flawless as she walked down the path, servants silent.

They made their way to the end of the path, and as three climbed up the stairs, Petra turning to face the woman with Dorothea and Asha flanking either side of her a few steps behind.

Petra gave a slow, deliberate nod, and kept her head bowed.

"Honored grandmother." She offered, the woman nodding in turn.

Dorothea was stricken. Grandmother!? Petra had a grandmother? One who looked shockingly young for surely being at least 70 years old? She kept silent, but nothing could keep her eyes from widening at the statement.

Asha, more in tune with the politics of her city, simply nodded when Petra did, offering nothing more, averting her eyes from the woman's gaze.

"Are these the ones, Petra?" She asked, in the long-suffering way of someone who already knew the answer.

"Yes, grandmother." She replied, voice strong and steady.

Grandmother sighed. "I have served you with all my powers since you took the throne, your father, and your grandfather before you." She said softly.

"You have proven yourself a wise, driven and able Jadeheart, one who will help bring Brigid into a new age of prosperity." She continued, chin high as Petra kept her own head bowed.

"Which is why I asked myself why you would do something so foolish, so impulsive as what you did today." She continued, a hiss of frustration creeping into her voice. "You came to me this morning, Petra, and you told me you wished to be married. To a woman. To a foreigner. And that you were adopting someone on their vouchsafe who would inherit the throne."

She paced slowly and deliberately past Petra, staring down Dorothea and Asha. The woman's eyes were the same purple as Petra's.

"You two must be something special, to make my granddaughter think it is acceptable to worry her elders so." She said, an unmistakable note of exhaustion to her voice. Petra turned to look at her speaking to them, nervous frissons running up and down her spine.

The woman took her place, stance widening, hands behind her back as she began to speak.

"I am Rakka Macneary. Advisor to the throne, and your new grandmother." She said with the sort of authority normally reserved for drill sergeants.

"Grandmother, please -- " began Petra softly before being silenced with a sharp snap of Rakka's fingers in front of her face.

"As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted..." She continued, an unimpressed look sent in Petra's direction.

"In the coming days, Petra, myself, and many others will be helping you to acclimate to palace life." She began, looking them up and down.

"You will be members of the royal family. This has many expectations, both for our people and abroad." She continued, voice strong and unwavering. It was like looking at an older, tougher Petra.

And yet, all at once it fell away.

"But we will make sure you are equal to the task." She said, a strain of reassurance beneath her words.

Rakka turned first to Dorothea, and offered her hand. "You. I'm told in Adrestia it is customary to shake hands upon first meetings." She said. Dorothea blinked. "It is. Ho-honored grandmother." She said slowly, reaching forward to grasp her hand.

"You are Dorothea, yes?" Asked Rakka.

"Yes, honored grandmother." Replied Dorothea meekly. Rakka smiled.

"You are to be the bride of my granddaughter." She stated before grasping her hand.

Her grip was like iron. She shook it once, twice, thrice, three firm shakes before letting go and leaving Dorothea's knuckles stinging. With infinite formality, Rakka nodded.

Then, she reached forward with a decisiveness and grace that defied her age to offer a kiss to both of Dorothea's cheeks. "Welcome to our family." She said, warmth in the words. Unsure what else to do, Dorothea nodded in thanks.

"Thank you, honored grandmother." She said softly, heart beating fast as a rabbit's. Swiftly, Rakka turned to Asha, who looked at her with wide, nervous eyes.

"And you," she said, kneeling down, locking eyes with her. They stared at one another for a moment that dragged on eternally. "You are Asha." She said, with surprising softness.

Rakka smiled, warmth suffusing her demeanor. "And you are to be my great-grandchild." She said softly, opening her arms and slowly reaching forward to hug her. Asha was too shocked to do anything more than stand stock still.

"Welcome to our family." She said softly, before pulling back, hands on Asha's shoulders. Asha stared at her, unsure what to expect next.

"You get to call me Baba." She said, with a conspiratorial wink. With that, she gave her shoulder a pat and let them go. She smoothly stood back up, turning back to Petra.

"You are no fool, Petra Macneary. You have made my life quite a bit harder with this fiasco you've dumped in my lap, but I trust you. In this, as all things, I will advise and assist you." She said solemnly, gnarled hand at Petra's cheek as they stared into one another's eyes. Petra could only nod. eyes shining.

"Your kindness and understanding humble me deeply, honored grandmother." She whispered, voice quavering. Rakka nodded, letting her go and turning out towards the house staff still prostrate in the grass.

"Attention one and all!" She began. "Before you stand the two newest members of the royal household! Their names are Dorothea and Asha! In all things, treat them as their status befits." She stated simply but with authority.

The staff looked up from their positions, memorizing the faces of the two new members of the family. Petra stepped forward, claiming the attention of the staff.

"You are dismissed." She said simply, seeming a bit less authoritative for having to follow up her honored grandmother. "Thank you for your hard work, as always." She finished, and the staff began to stand up, scattering to the winds.

In the absence of the staff, they all breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Granddaughter," said Rakka with an agedness she had not had a moment ago. "I am going to retire for the day. My bones ache, and I have much to prepare." She said, staring out at the empty courtyard.

"Of course, honored grandmother." Said Petra, stepping closer and placing a gentle hand at her back. Rakka turned back to the new arrivals, giving a tired nod. "It was good to meet you both." She said, a wan smile on her face. "I fear status makes proper introductions difficult, but in time you will get to know me as I will get to know you. Good day, little birds." She said, before giving Petra a kiss on the cheek and walking off to parts unknown.

The three of them stood alone in the courtyard, exhausted.

Dorothea was the one to break the silence. "So that was grandma, huh?" She asked rhetorically. Petra nodded at her side, staring into the courtyard as they all were. It was a very nice courtyard, well-kept trees and smooth stones to sit upon.

"She's advised two kings before me. No one knows more about Brigid politics than her." She supplied.

"They call her the raptor." Said Asha, sitting on the edge of the palace floor, where it became the courtyard.

"She is a good woman." Countered Petra. "She loved my father and she loves me. She will love you both too." She said with conviction.

Dorothea sat on the edge of the courtyard, and Petra joined her.

"It's just a lot, Petra." Said Dorothea, speaking for her and Asha. Petra could only nod in understanding.  
  
"I know. But Grandmother and I, and all of the palace will do all we can to make the change as smooth as possible." She promised. Dorothea stretched languidly, arms above her head.  
  
"Now," she began, "I believe I was promised rooms? I've been sleeping in a caravan for the past four months and I think I've had my fill of rough living for the next lifetime." Said Dorothea, cheeky smile back in place.  
  
"I would like to see where I will sleep too." Volunteered Asha from the other side meekly.

Petra smiled. There was a heavy price to be paid as royalty, but let it never be said there weren't benefits. She stood up, helping her two girls back up onto the palace proper.

"Then let's show you your rooms." She said, smiling at the two women she had the privilege of introducing to her world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Samosas are delicious, I will die on this hill.
> 
> For those curious, the palace's stylings in my mind lean towards Japanese origin -- raised flooring, zen garden-type courtyard, slat-type flooring, well waxed. While worshipful of the land, they do not necessarily feel the need to touch it at all times. The palace's raised flooring is an anomaly meant to knock petitioners and guests off-balance. In the palace, the High Jadeheart is closest to divinity, and their people's closest link to the spirits. This also has lead to the Palace and its denizens gaining a bit of a reputation. What kind precisely depends on who you ask.
> 
> And no, I don't know where this came from either. I wrote it, and Ao3 doesn't have a "post at specific time" button and all of this was written on a work computer so it'll atomize at the end of the day and I'm too lazy to pastebin>write down address>transfer to actual word processor. So, happy new chapter day! No promises on keeping up this pace, but if I've learned anything these past few days it's to strike while the iron's hot.
> 
> Do you all like Rakka? I like her. I felt like the story would get too boring with nameless advisors as the only nod to courtly politics in Petra's life, and, I mean. Cool grandmas!


	4. New Home, New Circumstances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petra introduces Asha and Dorothea to their rooms. The obvious occurs when Petra and Dorothea get a moment to themselves, then they go to dinner. Sleep calls, and everyone is too tired to get up to any funny business.

The palace was not what Dorothea had expected, but it more than lived up to her expectations all the same. Numerous windows lined the halls, letting in great swathes of natural light. Mixed with the well-waxed dark wood which made up the floors and doors, the sun seemed to end up lazing inside of the halls, taking on a warm, enveloping glow.

The palace boggled her. The servants boggled her. Intellectually she knew this was the due of true, honest-to-Goddess royalty, but to see it all at play... for her benefit no less... it left her a bit starstruck. Those were her servants now, after a fashion.

And Rakka... that was a woman she knew intuitively not to cross. She gave off the authoritative energy of Manuela in the middle of surgery or the Professor on the battlefield: a true expert who brooked no challenges.

Dorothea followed dazedly behind Asha as Petra led them deeper through the halls with that attractive gait she had developed since last she'd seen her.

She walked like royalty now. Not like the shadow Dorothea had come to take for granted on the battlefield, silent and always there to protect her. Her heels _clacked_ with each step, and even in hunting leathers her aura made it clear: all of this was hers.

Petra took advantage of the walk to advise them of some of the amenities they would come to expect, innocent of the effect she was having on Dorothea simply by existing.

"Your clothing will be laundered regularly. You will have a basket which will be emptied once a day..." droned Petra, Dorothea more preoccupied with the fall of her braids, the movement of her muscles beneath her vest as she gestured here or there.

At some point or another, they had stopped in front of a door. Petra turned to look at them both.

"Now, are there any questions before we move on to the in-room amenities?" Asked Petra, lips curling beautifully over her mother tongue's words. Oh, Petra...a little frisson of delight ran down Dorothea's spine just to be near her.

"I think we are fine." Asha chimed in, saving her from Petra's unimpressed eyebrow which was surely looming had her mooning been noticed.

Petra nodded, reaching for the door with well-manicured fingers. She paused on the handle, keeping them in suspense.

"You will both be given a copy of the key to your room. Take care to keep it safe, as it is a security concern. The servants as a whole only have one copy apiece." Petra paused perhaps a trifle needlessly before adding, "if Asha likes this coming room, it is hers." She said before opening the door horizontally on a soundless rail.

Briskly, Petra stepped in with Asha and Dorothea at her heels. The room was... large.

The room was well-stocked, and yet felt strangely bare for how much of the single massive room was empty floor space. It must have been 30 square feet both ways, if not more. To one end near a corner was a king-sized bed, stately and understated in slate black from pillow to comforter.

The quality of the bed itself was obviously lovely, thick and dark and obviously comfortable, light enough to be manageable in the heat but warm enough to offer comfort.

Along the wall was a huge dresser, a dozen drawers made of black, stained wood, decadent in its simplicity.

The window letting light into the room sat above the dresser. Above that was a stunningly intricate pane of stained glass hanging in the window's light and shining a circle of color onto the floor revealing a stately bear, seated on its haunches in front of a shining sun.

Dorothea was very much enjoying the exploration, finding the closet nested next to the bed and delighted to find a plush bath robe hanging from a wooden hook.

"Asha, your closet's huge!" Cheered Dorothea, peeking her torso inside as if to prove her point.

"Please keep in mind, these are simply guest rooms as of yet. You are welcome to request modifications or additional items." Offered Petra, eyes briefly locking onto Dorothea as she peeked into the closet. Wordlessly, Petra snapped to the last quadrant of the room.

Petra leaned back out of the closet to peer at Asha, She was busy looking at a gorgeously painted dressing screen portraying tropical birds. She seemed to be impressed by everything she saw, which she supposed was a good thing.

Dorothea had to give it to the Brigidians: they made lovely art. She could see why a savvy merchant like Anna would want to fill a ship's hold full of quality goods like the ones in this very room before the boom.

All these items were centralized around the orbit of a square coffee table, made of the same dark hardwood as the rest of the palace. It sat innocently in the center of the room, pillows at all sides to allow for seating.

While Dorothea was no home designer, she had to admit the room, for how sparse it was still held a certain pull to it, the room organized and simple. One corner for clothing, one for storage, one for rest, one for dressing. It was simple yet effective.

Short tour complete, Petra looked to Asha, posture tighter than it had been, hands behind her back.

"Asha, if you would have it, this is to be your room. Does it serve? Whatever you wish to make it more comfortable can be provided." Offered Petra, hands clutched in a white-knuckled grip behind her as she looked at Asha.

Delicately, Dorothea crept behind her, hand ghosting along her upper arm as she made her way to Asha.

Asha had looked around the room with a certain amount of disbelief from the get-go. The room was massive, furnishings possessed of an obvious quality that she was not cultured enough to understand but at least able to grasp.

It was... a bit empty. Asha was accustomed to cramming her few belongings tight against her as she slept in a crack between alleys safe from anyone who would do her harm. To be given so massive a room, so empty, and... open... made her uncomfortable.

She looked up at Petra, biting her lip in obvious nervousness.

"It's nice." She managed softly, breaking eye contact and staring at her feet quickly. Petra and Dorothea were on her in an instant.

"Are you sure, sweetie?" Asked Dorothea, hand on her shoulder. "Whatever you want, Petra can do it, right Petra?"

Petra nodded firmly. "Just so. You are speaking to the High Jadeheart, after all. You do not need to be shy, Asha. Your comfort and wellness is paramount." Confirmed Petra, kneeling in front of her.

Asha wringed her hands, nervous, still not meeting Petra's eyes.

"Asha." Said Petra, softly but with authority. "Whatever is the matter, it's alright. We can fix it." She said, smiling.

Asha braced herself and spoke, finding a queer safety in Dorothea's hand at her shoulder, soft and delicate. She still was not used to that and doubted she ever would, but there it was.

"The room is really big. I'm... am I allowed to move things to make it not so open?"

"Of course, Asha." Petra replied instantly. "We will have the room resized to your specifications. Why don't you show us what you had in mind?" She said, standing up and walking to the edge of the wall.

Slowly, Dorothea and Petra helped Asha describe the dimensions she wanted, dresser moved closer to the bed, screen moved nearby as well, everything much more centralized into a corner.

It certainly left a lot more empty space with only the table left unmoved, but surely they would find a use for that space as time went on.

Petra gave a simple smile then, pulling a rope attached to a tinkling bell. Within a few moments a servant knocked at the door, and Petra opened the door to give the order to have the room's furnishings reorganized at dinner.

The servant nodded, running off to relay the order to have Asha's will done.

Dorothea clapped her hands happily, smiling down at Asha.

"There, easy as that. See, Asha? It doesn't hurt to ask."

Asha nodded. "Thank you, High Jadeheart." She said softly, Dorothea still holding her shoulder.

"Now, none of that, Asha," admonished Petra softly, wagging a finger in a good-natured tease. "When we are alone, you may call me what you will, but no titles. Those are for public life." She said, before giving a put-upon scoff.

"Spirits know the title has lost all meaning the way some people use it in front of me." She remarked sullenly.

Dorothea was quick to wrap herself around her, presence soothing.

"Don't pay them any mind darling. You know who you are." She said softly, nuzzling into her neck. Petra shuddered invisibly at the pleasant touch.

"Y -- yes." Managed Petra, blush searing across her cheeks.

"Asha, perhaps you would like to familiarize yourself with the-um, with your room? Figure out where you'd like to store things, ideas for how to use the spare room? I-um, I should show Dorothea to her room. Alternatively of course you could join us." She offered, Dorothea and Petra both privately hoping that perhaps she'd like to spend some time relaxing on her own.

"That's alright," Asha answered, shaking her head to her guardians' private delight. "I'm tired. Can someone come wake me for dinner?" She asked, turning to flop bodily onto the mattress.

"Of course, cub." Said Petra fondly. "We will return to wake you for a private dinner, just us." She said, warm smile staining her lips.

Dorothea gave a wave goodbye, smiling prettily from her position on Petra's arm. With nothing further, they left Asha to her room, gracelessly spread-eagle on the bed with her bag still packed next to her. Both of them made their way to Dorothea's chambers with quick strides.

They only walked past one other door and through a long hallway before they arrived in front of Dorothea's room. Asha and Petra, it seemed, would be Petra's neighbors, if the guard standing by the door between Asha's and Dorothea's room was anything to go by.

Swiftly and with deft fingers the door was unlocked, The both of them inside in an instant, lock latched shut again behind them.

There were no words, just a thump against the wall as Petra shoved Dorothea against it and a searing kiss that left them both gasping. Petra pressed up against her, hot breath against her nape.

"You have --" She began, wet kiss at her nape. "No idea --" Another. "How long I've waited for this." And a sharp nip that made Dorothea gasp shakily.

Dorothea could not hope to resist, her first recourse to wrap her arms around her love, mind already reduced to base instincts.

"Petra --" She gasped, pulling herself impossibly closer, putting her face into the crook of Petra's neck, breathing her in. "We shouldn't..." She murmured regretfully, hands countermanding her mouth expertly as they ran under Petra's vest, fingers trailing over her defined abs.

"I thought Adrestians always christened new homes like this." Growled Petra, in a way that went straight to the pit of her stomach.

"P-Petra..." She whined piteously, grabbing onto Petra's arm uselessly until Petra took her chin in her hand, forcing them to lock eyes.

"I will be a perfect lady, Dorothea. If you want me to stop, simply say so." She said, eyes smoldering with a mischievous gleam. She leaned forward, breathing hot air on her ear.

"Just. Say. Stop." Oh, Goddess, she was in over her head. Petra was going to be the death of her.

"I -- Petra..!" Gasped Dorothea uselessly, eyes fluttering closed as Petra pressed up against her. Her legs were shaking, she was a mess. She wanted her so much she could die, objections be damned.

Petra pulled back, blushing face staring at her hungrily.

"I've wanted this for so long..." She whispered, voice husky. "More than a decade I've waited."

She ran a single manicured finger down her throat tracing her pulse, Dorothea helpless to do anything more than shudder helplessly and let her take whatever she wanted.

"So many years," She continued, voice growing hotter with emotion. "I wanted you to be mine and I yours for so long."

She nuzzled into her, softening abruptly. She wrapped her arms around her tightly, Dorothea matching her. This she could understand at least.

"How -- how can I possibly control myself? So long --" Dorothea was alarmed to realize Petra was shaking in her arms.

"I've had to control myself so long, Dorothea..." She whispered in a rush of breath, desperation and exhaustion mixing in the heat on her neck.

Dorothea held her close, nuzzling into Petra's neck, shushing her softly. "I know, darling..." She murmured, rubbing soothing circles into her back. "I know, my love..." Slowly, she pulled her back, looking into Petra's strong face, lip trembling, eyes shining

"I-- I don't --" Petra attempted uselessly, arms waving uselessly as she tried to explain herself.

"When I look at you, I feel as if I will burst into flames like an efreet, fire consuming everything." She murmured, leaning her forehead against Dorothea's.

"I am High Jadeheart. I cannot lose myself. But when it's you, I want to. I want to let the flames take me." She murmured as Dorothea gently led them towards the bed, where they sat down.

"But that is passion, my love." Soothed Dorothea, gently stroking her cheeks. "Goddess knows that for a moment I'd have loved nothing more than to burn with you." She admitted, adjusting Petra's arms around her.

"You are the High Jadeheart, it is true. But before that, you are Petra. And Petra deserves to be happy. " She murmured softly. Oh, sweet Petra... She had foolishly forgotten that all these years she must have been under a world of stress.

Well, she was here now. And she would not let Petra torture herself. She kissed Petra, soft and longing and lingering.

"Don't let outside get in here, my love. Stay with me." She said softly, kissing her once more.

She pulled back, staring into Petra's eyes, saddened by the look of slack bafflement she saw. She frowned in turn, concerned.

"What did I ever do to deserve you, Dorothea?" She asked, so sincerely confused Dorothea could not stand doing anything but proving her own goodness to her.

"Because you are kind, Petra." She began softly, stroking her marking. "Because you are smart, and caring. Because you are loyal, because we fought together, and shared secrets. Because you're you, Petra." She continued, offering a disbelieving huff of laughter.

"Goddess. Because in a heartbeat you were ready to adopt a child with me. Because you got on a knee and asked to marry me in a whirlwind romance, politics be damned, like some prince from the Opera! Because you will be a wonderful mother. Because you deserve to be loved, and I want to be the one to love you."

It came spilling out of her so easily. Half-formed thoughts given voice, the thousand reasons Dorothea would never regret her decision.

She held her tight. Dorothea heard a soft sniffle as Petra nuzzled into her shoulder.

"It's okay, Petra." She murmured softly. "You're safe here. You are not the Jadeheart in here."

"We will have time to sort it all out. There is no need to rush, my darling." She continued, voice soothing as she held the woman who would be her wife.

"I won't let anyone hurt you." She promised, and meant it with every ounce of her being.

They lay in bed together quietly, warm light filtering through the room, leaving them stained gold.

Dorothea held her, heart warm.

She was there for her now. Dorothea could help her to survive the courts and her duties, and love her like she deserved.

Well, she may as well make it official.

"Yes, by the way." She said, looking down at her head where she was nuzzling into her chest. She pulled up, face ruddy but otherwise looking very much more like herself.

"Yes to what?" She said, voice soft, head resting on Dorothea's arm.

"I will be your wife. I'd realized I never gave you an answer." Confirmed Dorothea, soft smile on her face.

There was a soft intake of breath as Petra realized what she'd said, eyes slowly widening. Dorothea's smile only grew wider.

"I'd say some pretty words, perhaps offer an oath, but I think that can wait until the wedding, don't you?" She said, teasing lilt to her voice as she gently poked the tip of Petra's nose with a finger.

Petra blinked, eyes crossing until they locked onto Dorothea once more. She gave a fond scoff, rolling her eyes.

"I can't tell if that was very romantic or very silly." She confided before leaning forward to give Dorothea a soft, loving kiss. Dorothea reciprocated all too happily.

Both of them were wrapped around each other, kissing and nuzzling as time passed in a pleasant haze.

Eventually, however, they pulled apart, sorting themselves with one facing the other to bring their hair back under control cross-legged on the bed.

Petra bit her lip, a glimmer of hunger crawling back into her eye. Dorothea had seen it in many people before, and could only quirk an eyebrow in question at the sight of it.

"Yes?" She asked innocently.

Petra licked at her lips, looking away with her cheeks coloring once more.

"You would look beautiful in Brigidian braids, is all I was thinking.

Dorothea grinned at that, hands sliding forward to grab Petra's hands.

"I would like it if you put me in them, some time." She said softly, eyes demurely averted, staring down at Petra's beautiful hands. She stroked them thoughtfully, reverently. A princess's hands. A queen's hands.

"I love you," Dorothea whispered helplessly. Petra leaned forward, her forehead on Dorothea's. "I love you too, darling." She said in that soft, gentle voice she'd only heard her use with her.

"Now come, we've dawdled long enough. We should prepare for dinner." She said, pulling herself free regretfully and standing once more.

Dorothea sighed, pulling herself off of the bed with only the greatest effort.  
  
"I suppose that's our next stop then?" She asked. Petra nodded in turn as she stretched, arms over her head.

Dorothea joined her in her stretching. Once they were both suitably reinvigorated, they headed off. Dorothea hadn't had the chance to look over her room, but she had the next foreseeable lifetime to sort it out, so she gave it no further thought.

They stepped back towards Asha's room, the hall stained a warmer orange than earlier in the day as the sun set. With a curt knock, they announced themselves at Asha's door. Within a moment she had opened it, still wiping sleep from her eyes.  
  
"Good morning little cub." Said Petra, only a hint of teasing in her tone.

"Hey. What're we eating?" She asked thoughtlessly before catching herself. "I-I mean good.. uh. Hello."

Dorothea snorted, gently ruffling her sleep-tousled hair affectionately.  
  
"She makes a good point. What _are_ we eating?" Dorothea asked curiously.

Petra shrugged. "Don't know. I told the cooks to make something simple, so probably curry, or noodles." She offered, noncommittal.

They were more or less silent as they made their way to Petra's room, nodding to the guard at her door with a friendly smile.

With a respectful bow, the guard opened the door, letting them in, dazzling both of the palace's new tenants all over again.

Petra's chambers must have been three times as big as theirs, and thoroughly lived in. Statuettes on some of the tables and furnishings, swords and bows hung from the walls, a desk overflowing with paperwork, rich rugs on the floor... it was a lot to take in, which was perhaps why Petra elected to say nothing and quietly corral them into a smaller side room adjoining the main area.

It was a much smaller room, likely meant for private meetings with the High Jadeheart. The walls bore stunning ink paintings of more Brigid wildlife, twin cranes on one side and a fearsome lizard on the opposite wall. Beyond that though, it was a very spartan room made homelier by the addition of three fragrant bowls of something that smelled very good indeed.

"Ahhh." Said Petra appreciatively, taking the furthest seat, the table square like the others, another bowl to either side of her against the other walls. She took a cross-legged seat, inhaling the smell appreciatively.

Dorothea and Asha were quick on the uptake, both picking seats and getting comfortable. Without further small-talk, Petra dove into the dish and the floodgates opened.

Dorothea had gotten some practice with the sticks used in Brigid cuisine over knife and fork, but she was being put through her paces.

The noodles in the broth were slippery, though delicious and well complimented by the thick cuts of pork sitting atop them, garnished with green onions and similar garnishes she was in no state of mind to care too much about analyzing.

The silence was warm, all of them enjoying the hearty meal without need for conversation. There was no need for it. It had already been a huge day, and a hearty meal was what, whether they realized it or not, they all really wanted in that moment.

"It's good." Offered Dorothea, the first words of the meal. She was answered with two grunts of affirmation, all returning to their meals just as quick.

Before long, there were no more noodles and no more broth. They all sat back, obviously full and satisfied. They continue to sit in comfortable silence for a while longer until Dorothea spoke up again.

"Tomorrow I will have to return to my duties, and you will have to begin your lessons. Grandmother Rakka, along with myself and others will all take turns teaching you in various topics." She said, sending nervous shivers through the room.  
  
"We will not dump you into the deeps, of course. You are both very smart, and certain to catch on quickly. From there we will be able to better figure out how we want everything to go." She said, waiting for any observations or questions.

"What kinds of lessons?" Asked Dorothea, voice firm.

"Courtly manners, to start. Assessments of skills. I admit I am not sure of all the details, but these are still going to be introductory lessons. And even then, this is not like Adrestia. You will not live or die by which spoon you pick up first at a meal." She offered, with a crooked smile.

Dorothea and Asha both smiled at the small jape.  
  
"Probably best to just wait for it to happen instead of worrying about it." Stated Asha, pushing her bowl away.

"That's a good way to look at it, Asha." Stated Dorothea with an authoritative nod.

"Sometimes." Corrected Petra gently, smiling at her antics. Without further fanfare, she stood up.

"Whatever the case, I am tired. Naps notwithstanding I imagine you all are as well. May I walk you all to your rooms?" She asked as she stacked the bowls in into a neat stack on the table.

As if to punctuate her point, Dorothea yawned. "I guess you're right. It's been a big day." She conceded, standing up. Asha stood to match them wordlessly, as they stepped out of the room and Petra's chambers, heading first towards Asha's room.

Once they'd reached it, Asha proved silent for a time as she stood in the open doorway and staring at the two of them.

"This has been a strange day." She began, unprompted. "This is all crazy to me and a nap just confirmed this isn't a dream." She continued, chin high. Evidently she had been preparing this speech.

"But you have been kind to me. And for that I thank you. I don't know what will happen next, but at least for today... thank you for being there for me." She finished, with a deep bow that had both Petra and Dorothea choked up with emotion.

Petra kneeled, locking eyes with her when she rose from the bow. "There is no need to thank us, Asha. We are your guardians now. We are doing what we should be doing. Just as this new position you are in makes for new expectations for you, you have the right to expect things of us as well." She said with soft certainty.

Dorothea knelt beside her and nodded her agreement. "She's right. We're in this together, sweetie." She smiled. "And we want to thank you too. You did great today." She said, placing a hand on Asha's shoulder and eliciting a shiver from her.

Petra stood, and Dorothea with her. "Rest well, Asha. We will see you again tomorrow." She said formally, with a nod of her head. Asha nodded in kind, and closed the door softly in front of them.

Petra let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding, while Dorothea pat her on the back and gave her a peck on the cheek.

"You're so good with her." She cooed, wrapping an arm around her waist as they made their way to Dorothea's room.

Petra sighed. "I hope I am. I have no idea. She is very nervous, and I cannot blame her." She answered. Soon they were at Dorothea's door, and Petra could not stop herself from kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips.

"Unfortunately you cannot stay with me in my chambers until we sort out the marriage." She stated regretfully. "But we will sort it quickly, if I have any say."

Dorothea smiled, nuzzling into her sweet Petra's chest. "I figured as much, dear. Don't worry, I'm patient." She sighed against her.

Petra gave a surprised yelp a moment later when she felt a pinch at her bottom making her jump, however.

"But I can be sneaky when I want to be, too." Offered Dorothea, staring her down with a fox-sly face.

".... Good night, Dorothea." Said Petra, her face already several shades more read, hands behind her back.

"Good night, my love." Dorothea replied cheerily, fluttering into her own room and closing it behind her to leave Petra alone in the hall.

Petra deflated, running her hands through her hair.

What a day. And this was only the first one. Hopefully she'd get the hang of this soon.

But for now, rest sounded like just what she needed.

When Petra made it to her rooms, bowls already disappeared from the meeting room, she barely managed to strip down to her smallclothes before she fell flat onto her bed and directly into the embrace of exhausted oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaargh. This one was a bit of a messier delivery. So many good scenes on the cutting room floor and still so long... another day. I wanted to add so much, a hair-braiding scene, a bigger dinner scene, but the day had gone on long enough as it was. There will be other days and other chances.
> 
> Yes, the dinner was ramen. Who doesn't like ramen? 
> 
> I feel like I'm kind of losing the plot even as I plan it, haha. I have plans to keep things going, with some timeskips incipient. I'm not going to make you sit through the actual etiquette lessons, even if I've made you sit through everything so far. :P Petra isn't out of character, is she? I'm trying to make her be true to her character, but without her cute language quirks and being so much more mature after ruling a nation for 5 years I worry I've lost what makes her special. It's easier with Dorothea. If you have comments on that, or anything about the story please feel free to comment! I loooove comments especially.
> 
> Easter egg: I was originally going to make Asha's bed have zebra-stripe pillows before I realized "wait a minute, Brigid probably doesn't have savannahs for zebras. Dang it."


	5. Breakfast and a Fitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Breakfast with honored grandmother, talk of clothes. Some light espionage.

Asha had not slept in so fine a bed before. When her guardians had woken her for dinner, it was out of a corpse-like rest she had not expected to overtake her. She frantically jumped out of the covers, wiping a fine line of drool from her face as she answered the door, already missing her pillow's siren call.

Her first actual night in that bed was similarly comfortable, but regrettably more akin to her usual nights. Her dreams were inundated with the smell of smoke and burning flesh as ever, and she woke as she always did. Perfectly still, and staring into the amniotic abyss above her as she returned to herself.

Ah, yes. She was a royal, now, after a fashion. Tomorrow (today?) she would begin the punishing work to turn her from an urchin into a member of the royal family. The thought didn't scare her as much as she thought it would. Etiquette? Posture, politics? How does anything compare to being a child on the street trying to find their next meal?

She closed her eyes again, the gentle breeze from the cracked window blowing away the smell she knew wasn't there.

\---

Dawn came between one blink and the next, heralded by a polite knocking at Asha's door.

She shook herself out of her sleep and into wakefulness in half an instant. She had been waiting for this. She rolled out of bed, straightening her back and opening the door to stare up at what she blearily recognized as a maid, eyes averted and hands clasping a bundle of clothing.

She does not introduce herself, merely offering a clipped "My lady," before offering the bundle of clothing and informing her that she would wait outside while she dressed before taking her to lessons.

Asha nodded, and closed the door gently, dropping out of her clerk's outfit from the opera and into... oh, my, sinfully soft cotton garments, the color of a peach and splashed with green along the edges of the long droopy sleeves.

Clad in underclothes provided, she put on the outfit. It was a simple one-piece, pre-done so she only had to wriggle into it, its hem landing comfortably just above her knees, the only other accessory a pair of soft, white socks that came up to her calves.

All told, this was the most comfortable thing she could remember wearing. She tried not to wriggle just to enjoy the feeling.

She opened the door once more, saying in a soft but clear voice: "I'm ready."

The maid nodded, and gestured for her to follow. The walk was quiet, both of them on socked feet. The nervous part of her which always woke first wondered where she was taking her. She silenced it. The answer would be forthcoming in its own time. This was a safe place.

The answer was a small room, populated by table, chairs, bowls of food and Rakka Macneary. Asha jolted at the sight of her, impeccably dressed and sharp eyes raking over her appraisingly as she stood straight, offering a nervous nod.

"Good morning, Asha." Offered Rakka diplomatically. Asha returned her own shy greeting.

Rakka places a bowl before the both of them before taking a seat and gesturing to the one opposite hers. She hopped into the seat with a slight squeak of chair on floor. She kicked her feet nervously beneath the table.

"I shall be assessing your table manners today. Dorothea is currently keeping the royal seamstress occupied, so in due time you will be switching places with her so she can measure you and assess your clothing needs." She said with clipped efficiency before picking at some of the fried rice that had been provided for their breakfast.

"Wh-what are you looking for? Miss Macneary." Replied Asha, picking up her chopsticks daintily.

"Cleanliness. Poise. Politeness and ability to hold conversation. What you might expect." She answered, refreshingly frank. At least she wasn't being babied. She could appreciate that. She began to eat her rice in silence.

The meal passed in silence, to Asha's surprise. Rakka simply stared at her impassively for most of the meal, only occasionally offering passive observations on harmless topics like the weather or the quality of the meal. Before long their rice bowls were empty and she placed her chopsticks over the bowl's rim and pushed it away.

Rakka clapped her hands once, a ghost of a smile in place. "Very good, little cub. I am pleasantly surprised. Your manners are good, and you managed to keep polite silence only speaking when spoken to." She began, standing and walking over to her end of the table.

She gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "One of the most important lessons you will learn in the palace is that information is dangerous." She said seriously.

"Even the smallest suggestions can be used to cause trouble. Silence is your best defense against saying something you shouldn't, especially as someone new to the Palace and its ways." She said, hand raising up and patting her head gently.

"I can tell you are a smart one. But don't get ahead of yourself. There will be time enough to play spy and diplomat. Let yourself get acclimated." She said, with a wink. With a sigh, she worked a crick out of her neck.

"That concludes our first little lesson. You have a fitting to get to." As if summoned by the words, the same maid from before appeared from the ether, nodding humbly with eyes averted.

"Zegana will take you to your next appointment. I have other matters to attend to." She supplied. Before she stepped out, she offered a final word. "It was nice to see you, Asha." She said. Asha could only nod nervously, eyes wide.

"N-nice to see you too, miss Macneary." She said as formally as she could. Rakka smiled at that. "Grandmother, dear. I'm miss Macneary if I don't like you. And that is certainly not true of you." And with that, Rakka was off just as soundlessly as everyone else in the palace seemed to.

Zegana nodded to her, beginning the trek to the royal seamstress's rooms.

\---

Dorothea was in her element. Clothes, accessories, make-up, and ordering people around.

It had been meant to be a simple preliminary, measurements and discussion of preferred colors, but it had quickly spiraled out of control as matters of fashion often did when Dorothea was involved.

They'd gotten the measurements with the new member of the royal family chattering her ear off about nothing of import, but it all came to a head once it came to the colors.

Much to the royal seamstress's annoyance, Dorothea had frustratingly specific ideas about what her wardrobe should look like.

"Oh, is this really the red we want to go with? Don't we have something brighter, to go with my eyes? Crimson maybe?" Dorothea titters, pointing to her eyes as if to make obvious the importance of matching with them.

"That is -- my lady, the colors of the royal family are meant to subtly link each member to the others via their respective color palettes. They can't be changed because you want your eyes to pop!" Cried the seamstress, gesticulating to the many bolts, all subtly complimenting one another in a way Dorothea grudgingly admitted made for a lovely effect.

"I don't know how they dress the nobility in the mainland, but the royal family's unity is paramount!" She continued, voice raised to an uncomfortable squeak.

The woman may have been small, drowning in a sea of luxurious cloth and jangling bangles but there was no question as to her passion for her art, which was one of the biggest reasons for why Dorothea was pushing. It was so rare to meet a true professional. Dorothea pouted.

"Oh, fine, you've convinced me. I can forgive my eyes not popping as they should for a package aesthetic. The carmine can stay." She conceded airily, drifting through the bolts of cloth all around them. The seamstress sighed.

"Honestly, they told me I was taking measurements, not deciding your season's colorings..." she murmured mostly to herself. Dorothea gave a high, sweet bark of laughter.

"Oh, darling, rest assured you'll be seeing a lot of me." She said, turning to face her properly.

"Now that I have vexed you suitably, I suppose we should introduce ourselves properly!" She stated cheerily, hands at her sides, towering over the small woman.

"I'm Dorothea Arnault, soon to be Macneary! I love fashion and was the Prima Donna of the Mittelfrank Opera Company for many years." She said cheerily. The seamstress goggled at her.

"I... yes. Of course, my lady. I am Keless, seamstress to the royal family for the past thirty years." She said, offering a small bow. Dorothea laughed.

"Oh please, Keless, no need for bowing, we're going to have a busy relationship together over the coming years, and I want us on equal footing!" She countered, turning to look over the delicate shades of blue and yellow, recognizing the bolts that likely spawned Rakka's striking robes.

"After all, I don't know how it's done on Brigid, but on the mainland, a woman's two finest confidantes are their seamstress and their hairdresser." She said with a wink.

Keless was not equipped to deal with this, and so nodded dumbly, unsure what she was getting into.

It was with a breath of relief from Keless that a stone-faced maid appeared, child in tow to save her from this strange conversation.

"Zegana!" She cried, a trifle too loudly, "you have our newest charge with you?" She asked. Zegana nodded, bowing and gesturing for the child to step forward.

"Oh, Asha!" Cried Dorothea, delighted.

"Hi, Dorothea." Said Asha with a small smile.

"Ohhh, your outfit is darling, sweetie!" She cried, getting to her knees to look over her adorable little one-piece. Tied with subtle light green cording to compliment detailing on the sleeves, fine cotton, well sized but not tailored, understated but lovingly dyed peach coloring...

"Did you make this, Keless?" Asked Dorothea curiously, looking over the stitching with a practiced eye. Good stitching. Clean and even.

"Yes, my lady." Answered Keless. "It was an old outfit I made a few modifications to in preparation for a child joining the household until I could prepare a proper wardrobe." She answered, looking over how the outfit fell on her new charge, judging their posture and fit, mind clearly running calculations even as she greeted her.

"Hello, my lady. I am Keless. I shall be your personal seamstress." She offered gently, the small woman offering her a kind smile. Dorothea approved of her needlepoint manner; she'd intentionally come in loud to put her off balance, but she seemed a polite and pleasant person when a noisy foreigner wasn't rampaging through her cloth stores.

But, she had to know who was actually viable as a friend and contact and who was hiding their xenophobia behind a mask of politeness. It wasn't a sure thing yet, but Keless would be a valuable ear to have listening for her if she could manage it.

Dorothea stood up after patting Asha's head. "Well! I believe the royal seamstress has measurements to take, and I doubt the elder Macneary has deigned to offer spare time. Do you have someplace to take me, Zegana was it?" She said, turning to the maid, who nodded silently.

"Well, there it is then. Take care you two, lovely to meet you Keless." She tossed as she floated out the door.

"Y-you too!" She called at her retreating form. While the child looked out at Dorothea leaving, Keless slumped invisibly. That one would be a handful. Regardless, Keless had more work to do, and she brandished her measuring tape as she led the little one to the mirror booth.

\---

Rakka was alarmed.

Rakka was impressed.

Rakka would need to prepare documents to apprise Dorothea of the political intrigues active in the palace.

She pecked at her near-forgotten rice, eyes sharp as she looked at the woman opposite her taking a dainty bite of her own.

This one was dangerous. She shouldn't be surprised her granddaughter's mate would have some surprises, but they seem to have welcomed an asp into their nest.

Within five sentences she'd managed to get Rakka to admit something she hadn't meant to.

Within 15 she'd been used to confirm Dorothea's suspicions about Zegana having other duties within the palace.

"Were you involved in espionage during the war?" She asked bluntly, before she got outplayed again. She had no idea she was entering into a battle of wits with a dangerous enigmatic entity, and she needed to reframe the conversation now, before she made another mistake.

She should never have underestimated her Had she come in on top of her game she wouldn't have made such rookie mistakes.

"Now, grandmother Rakka, surely you know a lady doesn't spy and tell anyone but her handler." She giggled, eyes glimmering.

"After all," she continued, the flow of conversation sliding effortlessly between her bites, the cadence of conversation measured flawlessly.

"What's a spy without their network? If I did do such a thing, I doubt any assets would still exist in Brigid. If there ever were, of course. I'd have to build the whole network over again, while playing at royalty!"

Rakka had thought she'd be gauging her table manners and likeliness to spill state secrets. She wanted a drink.

"Truly, I've been a prima donna before, stuck in the public eye, but to hide such ghastly things while a member of the royal family? _That_ would be a challenge."

This woman, she could sense with terrible certainty had looked at people and dispassionately weighed the costs and benefits of having them killed and had a full night's rest afterward.

"Where would I even find someone capable of the ghastly things spies are known to do?"

Likely, she'd done the killing herself.

Rakka stared at her, unblinking. This was not someone to be trifled with. She needed to get her into the intrigue now, and get a collar on her before she risked causing real damage.

"Dorothea, would you like to be a member of the royal family's spy network?"

"Why, grandmother Rakka, I was beginning to think you'd never ask." She said, with a lidded smile, taking a bite of her fried rice.

Rakka stared her down, this air-headed wife of her daughter, who had unquestionably run a spy network and had a great number of people put to death.

"The palace is not like the war. Your methods are not going to be acceptable here."

"What methods, honored grandmother?" She asked, clearly having far too much fun playing the fool. Rakka tapped her chopsticks against their rest loudly.

"You're made your point, _granddaughter_." She hissed, staring her down. "You know how this works. I'm notifying you that the code of engagement is different from what you're accustomed."

"Oh, that I know. Best I could tell, there hasn't been a suspicious death of Brigid nobility since Petra's father, and that one was his own fault." She said, eyes suddenly as thin and bladed as green glass, measuring her response to the casual mention of her son's death.

Rakka was still as stone, staring her down impassively. Dorothea smiled beatifically.

"I know how to wear a muzzle. But I also know how to get a job done." She said, decisively. She took a final bite of her meal, chopsticks on her bowl, pushed back soundlessly.

"Oh, look at that. No more food. Guess I should be on my way to my next appointment. You run my calendar, so if we need to speak, you know where I am. All the time." She said, with an air of pleasant detachment as if they had only spoken about the weather.

She left without being dismissed, off to her next appointment, Zegana leading her off.

She had to grudgingly give credit where it was due.

That one would be useful. Time would tell how far she could trust her, but she'd much sooner have her on their side than anyone else's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, kudos and comments are glorious mana that sustains me. Your interest stokes my interest.
> 
> Haha, plot! It had to happen eventually. Let's be real here, Dorothea is terrifying. Who goes to war in a floor-length gown and full make-up? You'd better believe she's got some tricks up her sleeve.
> 
> As ever, more than happy to discuss plot or answer questions! I love talking about it.


	6. Baths and Blades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petra unwinds before winding up again. Asha gets cleaned up.

It felt good to return to the training hall after the last few days. As positive and life-changing as they had been, none would deny they were stressful too.

And even back to her days at the Academy, not much soothed her more than a hunt or a vigorous bout of swordplay. Her instructor proved a skillful opponent, and barred from using her magic she was forced to push herself to keep up with her.

The clash of blades, the burn of stretching muscles swallowed her up as they fought. Step, riposte, sinistra strike to position for a lunge.

It was as simple as breathing. In battle, she was alone. Just her and her sword and a puzzle to solve, the best way to deconstruct the enemy before her. 

She took her chance, committing to the lunge. Her opponent's edge knocked it off course and left her open as it sailed past its target. She rolled with the momentum of her strike, coming up with a rising strike to their back they dodged nimbly, and they were back in stalemate again. 

They circled each other, eyes roaming in search of an opening. In an instant, they were on her, grip reversed as she grabbed at her sword-hand, leaning forward to slit her throat. Dorothea grinned. She fell back like a dancer in a dip, legs running up her opponent's body. Her off-hand grabbing her opponent's sword-hand, using it as a fulcrum as she swung her legs over their shoulders. With a firm twist of her hips, her weight put her opponent off balance, tipping them onto their side and landing harshly onto the floor.

They both still held each other's sword hands, but she had her knee on their throat. In a few moments, had this been a true battle, she'd lose consciousness.

"Yield." The woman spat, voice an awkward squeak through the knee on her throat.

She pulled back, letting her breathe and holding a hand out to help her opponent up.

Petra stood invigorated, breathing hard and coated in a fine sheen of sweat with her braids still firmly in place as she dragged her old instructor up. 

"Good work, Jadeheart. Your counters are a thing of beauty as ever." She offered raspily as she put up her gear. Petra did the same, nodding her thanks. 

"Thank you for the spar." She replied, sad to see her weapon hung up with the others in the training room. During the war the only time she was without an edged weapon was when she bathed, and even now her hand twitched and clenched, hungry for the familiar weight of steel.

It was then her grandmother stepped into the room eyes sharp in the way that made clear there was something to discuss. Her instructor needed no orders to make themselves scarce with little more than a final bow.

"Honored grandmother." She offered neutrally, nervous but hiding it as grandmother had taught her. Yesterday she had spent the day assessing Dorothea and Asha, and she had expected her report any time now.

"I trust all is well?" Petra questioned, wiping herself down with a towel. 

"After a fashion, granddaughter." Was her reply, firm hand grabbing onto her bicep and pulling her along, barely giving her time to toss the towel into a nearby hamper. Rakka caught her formal robes from off their hook, handing them to her to put on as they walked.

"You did not tell me your betrothed had intelligence experience. Anything else I should know about our new family?" She asked, walking them off to Petra's first meeting of the day. Petra winced.

"Ah. Yes, I... admit I forgot. She and Hubert kept their spycraft closely guarded; she hardly ever spoke of it." She murmured, pulling her hands through their sleeves.

"Well, we're taking advantage of it. I'm tired, granddaughter, and the shadows are too cold for an old woman like me." She said firmly, brooking no argument.

Not that Petra would object. Dorothea was a worker bee. She had thrown herself into the war effort with gusto, back then, ordering troops and officials like stagehands in a production. She doubted she could even turn it off. Surely she'd do the same with the Palace's intelligence arm.

"That's fine. Dorothea will savor it I'm sure. And what of Asha?" She asked, hoping to move onto topics less fraught.

"She shows promise. Her knowledge of the mainland's tongue will serve us well. She will be starting her courses on politics at an accelerated pace, along with the other necessities." Answered Rakka simply. "But she has pain inside her. Whatever brought her to the streets haunts her still. She is nervous, and has a stutter we will need to train out of her."

Petra did not slow their pace as she absorbed that. Of course she had been aware of the fact that Asha, due to her background had a hard life. It still pained her to hear it, though.

"We will account for it. The only way to address such things is with care and patience. In the interim I am sure she will manage well. If it becomes an issue we will take a more active approach." She said, arriving at the door to her next meeting. Rakka gave a thoughtful hum, nodding her head.

"I'm glad we're agreed on the topic then. I leave you to your meeting, Jadeheart." She said, giving a shallow bow. Petra nodded in turn, and Rakka disappeared into the labyrinthine depths of the palace, as was her wont.

Now for the real trial, she mused as a reedy man bowed before her and stepped into the room holding stacks of colorful designs.

Wedding preparations. She stifled a groan. This part at least, Dorothea needed no part in. Best to sort it quickly so that Dorothea could promptly take over the entire project while she sat and nodded politely. 

She would handle the distinctly Brigid portions of the ceremony. Past those Dorothea would of course want to be involved.

She stepped in after the man, and took her seat as they began the laborious preparations in raising up a pair of queens. Then sending the details to Rakka for approval. Then sending the requisitions to Keless to begin work on the dresses and decorations. Then the chefs for the menu. Then the clergy. The tattoo artist, the security, the--

\---

It had quickly become clear that Asha, up until now, had no idea what people talked about when they spoke of hygiene.

She'd been in this massive bath, scrubbed, combed, washed and scraped clean for over an hour. The handmaid tutted and hummed as she worked, massaging her scalp and droning on about proper hair care moving forward.

"Your hair is such a lovely color, my lady, it will look so lovely in braids," She said cheerily, brushing it out after the third (!?) salvo of goop being massaged into her hair. She was several shades pinker than when she stepped in and wrinkled as a prune. At least the water hadn't gone cold.

When she finally stepped out, she was immediately bundled into a delightfully soft, fluffy robe. With little fanfare she was parked into a chair, the handmaid kneeling and grabbing her foot.

"We're not done?" Asked Asha, alarmed.

"No, my lady. Now we must do your nails. We are nearly done, it should only be a half hour more." Answered the handmaid in her cheery voice while Asha grumped and sank further into the admittedly comfortable chair as she began grinding her toe nails with a metal stick. (???) It felt strange.

After a time though, the gentle scraping proved to be... oddly soothing, though. As she dried off, her skin felt for lack of a better word, fluffy. Weightless, her hair drying quickly thanks to its short length. When she ran a hand through it experimentally she was surprised when she felt silk instead of straw.

It was surreal. She really was a princess now, wasn't she? The pauper became the princess, and she was transforming moment by moment. She was almost nervous to see herself in a mirror after all of this, and she had a feeling this was only the beginning.

The handmaid moved on to her fingers now, carefully grinding her nails into delicate half-moons. Her skin looked so soft, her fingers seeming... delicate. It made her nervous, somehow.

A part of her was afraid of looking like a girl. The old woman that slept in the barrel had told her, when she was young, (well, younger) that bad things happened to girls on the streets, and she'd taken her words to heart.

She had made sure to look scruffy. To look ragged and undesirable, because she saw what bad people did in the dead of night.

But she wasn't on the streets now. She had new responsibilities. She had to grow her hair out, look beautiful. She needed to, for her new guardians. The people who were taking such a chance on the ugly little street rat they found by chance.

So, she took a deep breath, and let the handmaid work. She took another deep breath and thought about how it was going to be okay. That she was safe here.

Her nervousness did not abate, but it did not worsen, either. She let the woman finish caring for her nails. With a decisive clap of her hands, she stood up from her kneel, smiling down at her.

"That will do for today, my lady. You will be with me again tomorrow, but at least for now you're free of my clutches." She said with a gentle smile. Asha nodded, hopping out of the chair that was just a bit too large for her still.

"You were a lovely client. I admit, when I heard I would be servicing you I did not know what to expect!" She prattled as she went to grab her outfit, a garment in the same style as yesterday's but in blue and orange, similar but distinct from her grandmother's coloring. She brought it behind the privacy screen and wriggled into her clothes, somehow even softer now that her skin was so thoroughly clean.

She stepped out, socks slithering comfortably along her calves. Everything felt different now.

"Um --" attempted Asha.

The handmaid quirked her head to the side, smile still in place. "Yes, my lady?"

She blushed. She had a pretty smile. "Th -- thank you. I don't even know your name, but I feel really nice. So thank you."

A light blush crept onto the maid's face in turn, her smile hidden behind her hand.

"It was my pleasure, my lady. My name is Hanna." She said gently, before heading towards the door.

"Now, off you get, young lady, I'm sure you've got a busy day planned!"

And as if to prove it, Zegana stood politely in front of the door as Hanna opened it, stone-faced as ever. She bowed before Asha, stepping back to give her room to step past her.

Hanna waved her goodbye, and before she could remind herself she was a princess now, she returned it shyly. Hanna's smile got a little warmer at the sight, and then Zegana was off, Asha left with no choice but to follow her to her next engagement. Not that she knew what that was, but that was exciting in its own way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, friends! I hope you enjoyed this bite-sized little thing. As ever I solicit comments and kudos! I love discussing anything about the story so don't be shy if you'd like to talk about it with me. :>


	7. Dinner and a Nap

It had been a long month, of all of them. That much hardly even needed to be acknowledge, as they all sat in Petra's small meeting room, enjoying their spread of dishes. All three of them were tired, but thankful for the presence of the others around the table.

Petra took a bite of her spring roll, chewing and swallowing before turning to Asha.

"How have your lessons been, cub?" she asked gently, their eyes meeting, Petra offering a gentle smile.

"It's a lot. My tutors give me a lot of homework..." she mumbled, taking a piece of chicken from the central serving plate.

Dorothea placed a gentle hand on Asha's shoulder. She didn't jolt, as she might have, which sent a shiver of pleasure down her spine. "Well, we are both proud of you for working so hard, Asha. You're doing great," she said softly, her own smile warm and loving.

Petra gave a noise of agreement, nodding her head. "Yes, we all are. Even grandmother, though she won't say it," she said with a rueful smile.

Asha smiled at that, staring into her place. "G-grandmother Rakka has always been kind to me. I like her," She said softly, before having another bite of her chicken.

Dorothea gave a blustery sigh as she pecked at her rice. "I am a bit let down, though; there aren't really any noble children Asha's age for her to play with, from what I've been seeing. Would you like some playmates, Asha?" she asked, offering her a dazzling smile.

Asha took the chance to blush, staring a hole into her place. "I... um... only if it does not get in the way of my studies..." she spoke into her plate.

"Come now, Asha. It's only natural to want to play. You don't need to be ashamed of it. I am the Jadeheart and even I have times I schedule to do things I enjoy. There is no shame in it," Petra offered gently, stroking Asha's off-hand.

"If-if you say so, P-Petra..." she murmured, gently wrapping their hands together.

"Then it's settled," chirped Dorothea, clapping her hands excitedly. "We'll find you some playmates so you can have fun, instead of being stuck with nothing but homework and us old fogeys for company, okay?" She said gently, grasping her other hand where she had put down her chopsticks.

Wordlessly, the both of them came around to Asha's side of the table, wrapping their arms around her back in tandem.

Asha accepted the offered affection enthusiastically, squeezing their hands, and gently leaning into Dorothea's soft chest. "I like you old fogeys plenty..." she whispered, as if a secret into Dorothea's chest, making Dorothea and Petra smile at each other.

It felt so good to have a child. To help them grow, give them the love and stimulation they needed. Asha was such a good girl. Hard-working, intelligent, responsible... but still full of so much pain.

Their relationship proper, not as a stagehand was still so young, barely more than a month together, but it had all been going so well. Everyone was fitting into their roles well, they were finding time for each other, but Petra and Dorothea both were waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Asha was so quiet, and secretive. She had grown much better with physical contact, no longer shrinking or shying away, at least from them, but that said nothing of her own secrecy. They still knew next to nothing about her, and she volunteered nothing in turn.

Asha was an insomniac, often found wandering to the kitchens in the dead of night, writing her homework as she nibbled on whatever the chefs had begun to leave out for their "little mouse." The reasons for her late night snacks were a mystery. When asked about it, she simply said she did not sleep well, that she dreamt. Never what about, or anything else.

It was the same with her history. She refused to speak on the matter, and locked herself away at the mere mention. The most she'd ever said on the topic was when Petra had joined her for her first swordplay lesson, and with a full-body shiver said "I don't want to talk about back then. Ever."

Petra stroked her hair, slowly growing out from her boyish cut. Asha did not want to be who she was, it seemed. It was by no means a healthy coping mechanism, but perhaps she simply needed distance.

She could rest assured that under their care she would shine and be able to leave her past traumas behind.

The entire palace was smitten with their polite little princess. Darling of the chefs, well-loved by the maids and her tutors both, Rakka loved her in what Dorothea imagined was much the same way as Petra had been cared for by her; pushed with one hand, doted on with the other. The sweet jam dumplings she sometimes gave her were no secret.

Asha did not move in their grasp, as if she had fallen asleep then and there in their arms. Petra and Dorothea locked eyes, both helpless for the love they bore the child in their arms. She must have been running herself ragged this past month, desperate to do well and be well-liked...

It was not a decision they spoke of. With a simple nod from one to another, they quietly picked up the dozing child, walking her over to Petra's bed. Dorothea pulled back the covers as Petra gently nestled Asha into them, who did not stir but for a gentle murmur of nonsense. They looked at each other, both quietly walking back to the meeting room to finish their dinners.

Without Asha present, there was no need to put on airs any longer, and they sat next to each other, Petra picking up her seating pillow and sitting next to Dorothea, brandishing her chopsticks to grab a bite-sized piece of chicken, putting it up to Dorothea's face.

"Say ahhh," said Petra, teasing smile on her face.

"Oh, well if the Jadeheart insists, who am I to deny her?" she responded coyly, opening her mouth and taking the bite of chicken.

The "Mmm" she gave after taking it was perhaps a bit too much, leaving Petra blushing despite herself as Dorothea looked at her through lidded eyes. She still had it, she thought smugly.

With a teasing little hum she went about her business, taking bites of this and that, working to empty the spread. Not before preparing a little plate for the princess when she stirred, though.

Unable to resist, Petra gave Dorothea a gentle kiss on her cheek. Dorothea blushed a pretty pink at the touch, a soft "oh" escaping her, stuck mid-movement picking up a dumpling as she processed her action.

"You are such a good woman, Dorothea." She said, not bothering to hide her esteem for her fiancée. Dorothea came back to herself, blush darkening as she quickly took a bite of her dumpling.

"What brings this on, my love?" She asked after swallowing her bite.

"Big, scary spymistress, living in the shadows, still remembers to leave a plate of food for her sleepy child. It's sweet." She said gently, hand running gentle circles up and down her back.

Her blush was not subsiding. "It's only what I would have wanted were I Asha whenever she wakes up..." she muttered, taking another bite of her dumpling.

Deftly, Petra grabbed the last bite of the dumpling, taking it for herself, smiling at Dorothea's affronted expression. "It's good." She teased, before kissing her gently after she swallowed.

"Not half as delicious as you, though..." she purred, giving her earlobe a gentle nip, making her squeak adorably.

"P-Petra..." she gasped, nuzzling into her. "Be nice, Asha's in the next room..." she chastised gently.

Petra gave a teasing smile. "Oh, very well..." she acceded, putting the rest of the fried rice on Asha's plate. They were down to the dregs now.

"Well, that was an interesting meal." Petra said cheerily, pecking at her leftover rice.

"Yeah, yeah..." mumbled Dorothea, looking away and blushing. "Congratulations, you've proved once more you can make a mess of me at will," she grumped good-naturedly.

Petra simply smiled. Gently, she reached out to grab Petra's hand, lifting her up with her. She tugged on it insistently until Dorothea gave in and followed her.

"Petra?" she asked. Her only response was a finger at her smiling lips as she pulled them back to the bed where Asha was still sleeping peacefully. With great care, Petra moved Asha a few inches into the center of the king-sized bed, lifting the covers to slip in behind her.

Dorothea smiled ruefully despite herself, blush returning. The rules about spending the night were for them spending it alone, but if they were resting with their daughter, no one could object. Mercifully she was in one of her casual evening gowns, which was perhaps a step removed from her actual sleepwear.

She slid under the covers, nose to nose with little Asha, who was still sleeping so peacefully. Poor little dove, she must have been working herself so hard. Gently, she stroked her hair, so much softer than it had been. Such a beautiful slate, like the doves and pigeons she was reminded of.

Oh, but she loved little Asha. She hoped with all her heart that what she was doing was for the best. She knew this life wasn't for everyone. She could hardly stop herself from kissing their forehead as she listened to her soft breathing, Petra's long arms wrapping around them both, nuzzling up, pushing Asha into her chest, nuzzling deeper mindlessly.

She would do anything for the people in this bed, she swore to herself.

She and Petra both holding Asha close, they quietly drifted away to sleep, safe and happy in one another's arms.

\---

Asha had been having a wonderful dream. Things were good again, as they should be. Father was working in his study, and she was working with Mother on her embroidery. She was pretty good at it, she thought, but Mother always had more to teach her. Mother was so smart.

So was Father of course, but just a different kind of smart. He worked hard to provide for them both, being an ambassador from the mainland to Brigid, which for most intents and purposes was her homeland. He had told her many times that she was a proud member of the Adrestian Empire, but she had no idea what that meant.

She had never been there, and despite his fervent civics lessons she did not understand what he was talking about when he talked about Emperor Edelgard changing the world. Mother was from here, from Brigid, Land of the Twin Isles. And so was she.

They were at peace, here. Mother and Father took turns teaching her, and had since she was out of diapers. Once a week they would go out and have a nice meal as a family.

Her mother was so kind. She always had a kind word for her, taught her all she knew, and she was so pretty. Always dressed in the traditional clothes of their people, Father had told her she was a dancer before they had been married. She'd seen her leap, seen her sure steps, and Asha had never doubted that truth for a second.

Her father, too, was so good to her. Gentle but strong-willed and possessed of strong convictions, he taught her about dignity, about respect. He taught her from special books he'd requisitioned from the mainland, the same kinds of books noble children learned from.

She knew they had been expensive, but he had gotten them for her. Mother always worked hard to make her new clothes. Her parents loved her so much, and it was her duty to repay that love however she could. She studied hard, she loved and respected her parents.

She was proud of who she was, whatever she was. Her family loved her, and she loved them. She never felt safer than when she was in their arms. She felt so happy. So safe.

So safe, so happy...

the soap bubble that held that dream burst, but she still felt warm, and safe. She was not accustomed to this.

Maybe she was still dreaming. It felt... it felt like back then. When Mother and Father would let her sleep in their bed, when she had been younger. The thought alone had tears pricking at her eyes, and she nuzzled more deeply into the comforting warmth that surrounded her.

As quietly as she could, she hiccupped miserably. It seemed like now that she wasn't worried about where to get her next meal, her mind was constantly forcing her to look back and think about those times that were now so bitter to her.

She missed her parents. There was no point lying to herself, she did. She missed her old life. She wanted to embroider with Mother again, and finally go on that trip to Enbarr to meet the Emperor and Empress Father had been planning.

But this new life... wasn't so bad, either.

But she couldn't leave her old life behind, she was the only one who remembered Mother and Father. She had a responsibility to remember them, to make them proud. That drive had been the only thing keeping her sane for those long years on the street.

Would it truly be so bad if she just enjoyed this? Enjoyed the feeling of this warmth, as she let Petra and Dorothea in her life?

Her parents were gone. They could not keep her warm anymore. But they could. She could make them proud, and they could -- they could make something new together. That didn't mean she had to forget her past. Just... just that she was moving forward, like they would want her to.

So, Asha didn't open her eyes just yet, even if she thought she knew what was happening.

She hugged Dorothea close, and cried softly into her chest prompting a sleepy moan as Dorothea reached down to rub her back, Petra hugging them all closer silently.

Held so tight and warm, Asha opened her eyes in the darkness, staring up into the beautiful face of her guardian Dorothea, sleeping soundly, illuminated by the moonlight coming from the headboard. Asha must have fallen asleep, and then they'd all moved to Petra's bed.

Her heart hurt. They were so kind to her. They held her close, they brought her into their lives, and yet... she couldn't let go, yet. She wasn't sure if she ever could. They thought of her as their daughter, that much was obvious, but... they could never be her parents.

Maybe she was being foolish, and they knew that. They knew she had a life before them. Maybe they understood that she couldn't let go, But they were so kind... she felt as if she was throwing their kindness in their face, stubbornly clinging to her ghosts, who smelled of burnt flesh and fire and brought her only paint.

She shifted, staring up at the ceiling, cocooned by her two guardians, the Jadeheart herself giving her love and protection even in this moment. She was so blessed.

Yet she felt so cruel. If she had to choose between the love of two beautiful, smart, kind women, one of whom was the Jadeheart, being a part of the royal household and all that entailed, she would still give it all up for her past in an instant.

She sighed, and closed her eyes again. These thoughts would do nothing for her. Her family was gone, and this is what was left. No use wondering about what-ifs that would never be. She had people who cared for her, and just as before, it was her duty to repay that love and kindness by doing her best.

So, she closed her eyes, shifted and hugged Petra close to her like a stuffed animal, and willed herself to fall back into sleep's embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! To any who were not aware, the reason for last week's missed chapter was because I got antsy and wrote some DoroPetra smut but didn't want to send this up to E on the rating charts so I posted it separately. I've created a series, and you can find it in there or just in my works page. 
> 
> As ever, I hope you enjoyed, and I solicit comments eagerly!
> 
> All of you stay safe out there. Don't lick any doorknobs, or whatever the kids are doing these days.


	8. Of Culture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea learns more about Brigidian culture. Petra learns about Dorothea learning about Brigidian culture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhh, that felt good to put down to paper. I've been spinning about these headcanons for Brigid for what feels like ages, so actually getting to inflict it upon you all was quite therapeutic. Brace for infodumps!

Dorothea had to admit she was a bit surprised when Rakka was the one to wake the three of them, though the reason quickly became clear when she beckoned her out into the hall towards her room; with a blown kiss to her girls she joined her. She had, after all, yet to change out of yesterday's clothes.

"What do you have for me, honored grandmother?" she asked, still a trifle sleep-addled, rubbing at her eyes. She bit back a yawn. This was earlier than usual, even Petra would be asleep for another hour or so.

"Well, granddaughter, congratulations. The first steps in the preparation of the wedding have been sorted by Petra; now we are onto the issues surrounding the reception itself, as the mainland calls it," she offered in her clipped tones as if discussing the weather, amused glint in her eye.

Dorothea clapped her hands together in delight, clutching them together as she turned to Rakka fully. "Truly!? The bouquets, the seating, the menu, we're doing all that now?" she asked gleefully.

Rakka gave her an enigmatic stare in response. "Yes, that is what I meant."

"Oh, lovely! I expect I've appointments regarding such?" she asked, looking Rakka over as if the appointment sheet would appear through force of will.

Rakka reached into her robe, pulling out a small scroll and holding it out. "Again, yes." she said with a flatness of tone that could only imply she was on some level amused by Dorothea's excitement.

Dorothea did not snatch it, per se, but it was a close thing. Eagerly, she opened it then and there, reading over the scroll hungrily.

"Tattoo artist?" she asked, surprised. "I presume this is related to Brigid culture?" she asked, a trifle nervously. Her? With a tattoo?

Rakka nodded. "Yes. It is tradition for married couples to tattoo themselves in honor of the other in the royal family. The artist will assist you in its creation."

Unprompted, Rakka raised up her left sleeve, showing off gorgeous tattooing Dorothea had never even noticed before; whorling lines, sharp geometric designs, and a shark on the hunt adorning her upper arm among numerous fish and designs she struggled to take in at once.

"Goddess," she whispered reverently. "It's beautiful, Rakka..." she said softly, transfixed by it.

"My husband was called the striped shark, after the scars across his face and his skill at arms on the sea," she supplied, a bare instant of wistfulness creeping into her tone. The spell her arm cast was broken only when Rakka replaced her sleeve with a smart snap of her shoulder.

"The royal tattoo artist for my wedding was a gifted man. Yours is just as skilled. Tattoos are of great significance to us, and the position of tattoo artist well-respected. I'm sure Petra has told you of the meaning of the mark on her face," she supplied phlegmatically, stroking her tattooed arm through her sleeve.

Dorothea nodded. Yes, the forest spirit's mark. She knew a bit about Brigid's shamanic practices. She had, after all, seen Petra's jade idol which housed her father's soul.

"Regardless, the experts you will be meeting will be of greater use to you than I shall," she stated simply. "The list has been vetted pre-emptively, many having worked with us before, but I trust you will be able to sniff out anything strange."

Dorothea's eyes sharpened, realizing the added importance of her taking on these responsibilities. "Of course, grandmother. I will do what must be done," she stated solemnly. "To save us some trouble, I trust the wait-staff will be in-house?" she asked, eyes glimmering with the sharp thoughts needed to ensure security in such a venture.

Rakka nodded, her own spy's mask unreadable. "Of course. Regardless, off with you. Get changed, and get moving. You have a long day planned," she stated firmly before turning on her heel in a swirl of skirts and walking away.

Dorothea did as she was bid, disappearing into her room to the closets Keless had been so dutifully filling for her, little notes pinned to each detailing suggested occasions. Oh, decisions, decisions... she hadn't had a wardrobe this expansive since she was still at the Mittelfrank. Perhaps... yes, the purple. Keless made clear it was a good everyday garment, meant to inspire respect.

She was, after all, going to be representing the royal family as the fiancée of Petra Macneary for their wedding preparations, and though it had never been stated to her explicitly, it was obvious purple was the color of the royal family.

With care honed over years of practice, she prepared herself. Her garments flowed beautifully, plum-purple with swirling lines of tarnished gold, tight and elastic and showing off her frame but possessed of flowing accents, sleeves which billowed and a half-skirt which hung smartly over her black leggings. A look that, while to her exotic was, she was told, a common fashion in the courts.

And only accentuated by her careful work with pencil and brush. Delicately shading her lashes, painting her lips... the purple interacted in a curious way with the green of her eyes, one of her favorite features. She rarely wore it, but she had to admit it had an impact.

With a final delicate dusting of blush, she deemed herself fit for polite society, giving her hair a final tousle. It was time to go.

She'd made it her business to know what 'normal' looked like in the halls of the palace. Bustling maids, the occasional cook or guard. She gave cheery waves and hearty hellos to those she passed, assessing their reactions one by one.

Some were shy, others exuberant, some polite and some outright nervous. It was important to be able to assess the base-line of the various staff members so she could tell when something was wrong. It also helped serve her purpose of being everyone's friend; cultivating a reputation as a caring and thoughtful friend with an ear for anyone's troubles was a lovely way to gather information to serve her own ends.

And she got invited to parties!

She tittered with the matronly head of wing staffing, hearing who was sick and who was missing, spoke with the head chef to discuss the deliveries and the food on offer. She flitted like a moth from person to person, forming an image of the castle at work as she walked to her appointment with the newest variable in her model of the castle.

With nary a nod, she opened the sliding door to the meeting room she was expected in with a 'clack,' staring down at a dour-looking woman with arms that challenged Caspar's in girth, garbed in torturously intricate tattoos that were dizzying to follow.

She was quite striking. Sharp brown eyes, purple-ish hair akin to Petra's tied in a tight, business-like ponytail... was everyone on Brigid just gorgeous?

"Hello," the woman said in striking baritone.

"Hello, madam. The tattoo artist, I assume?" she said in turn, seating herself across from her and her collections of parchments, some blank others full of designs.

"Correct. I am told, lady... Arnault, that you are to be married. Congratulations," she said, with little inflection, finger flitting to a piece of parchment to confirm her name.

Dorothea blushed prettily, falling easily into the role of the love-struck soon-to-be-wed. "That is correct, miss..?"

"Kin."

"Kin, then," she said agreeably. "Now, as I'm sure you've already figured out, I am not a native of Brigid, but I understand that these tattoos are a matter of no small importance to a marriage. I ask for your patience as we work together," she said with a respectful nod of her head, which Kin matched.

"You will not be the first foreigner whose skin I've marked, my lady." She said, steady voice soothing.

Dorothea gave a dismissive gesture with her hand. "Please, no need for that, Kin, officially I've no title of yet, little more than a glorified house guest. Dorothea is fine," she said cheerily. Kin nodded her head once more.

"Dorothea, then. I shall begin," she stated simply. Evidently, she was a woman of few words.

"In Brigid, the art of body marking is a holy one. Many milestones in a person's life are immortalized with an artist's inks. Milestones of youth, adulthood, great achievements and events are marked by two things primarily: an artist's inks and with one's beads." she all but hummed in a soothing, hypnotic rumble.

"Beads?" she asked curiously. "I've seen them about. I've also noticed it is the style for both men and women to wear their hair long. That is for the beads?" Kin nodded.

"Just so. Beads are symbolic of notable achievements; the decision for a person to mark themselves in an artist's ink is by no means standardized. Many keep wedding beads, others tattoos great or small. For others, the catch of a truly giant fish might be worthy of a bead or tattoo; it is dependent on the person's own feelings on the matter whether something is worthy of being memorialized, particularly in ink. Tattoos almost always have beads to correspond with.

She undid her ponytail, showing now that many beads were hidden inside it of many colors. She began pointing to them, one by one. "When I began my apprenticeship to become a tattoo artist. My first love. When I struck out on my own away from my parents," she pointed, the beads multicolored in a way that she was planning on asking on as she moved to her arms.

"When I became a full-fledged tattoo artis," then she pointed to a bead in her hair in royal purple. "Here, I became a master," she traced a delicate band around her bicep, a fruit-bearing branch, points like needles. She pulled down her collar, showing delicate angular filigree along the trunk of her neck. "When I reached womanhood," she moved back to her arms. "When my husband and I were wed. When I took on an apprentice. Incidentally, they did my wedding mark," she said with a gentle smile on her face.

"I begin to see. So this tattoo is to symbolize what this means to me in my life..." she thought to herself, clutching at her chin pensively as she stared intensely at Kin's life laid out before her.

"And for the spirits to know you at a glance," Kin clarified. "The spirits do not speak our tongue, but they taught us theirs. They speak in colors and symbols, and we tell them our stories as they have told us theirs. As they have helped us, we help them in turn. It is a sign of our bonds to the land, and our respect for it," she stated with great solemnity. Dorothea matched her gesture, hands clasped firmly on the table.

"For a foreigner like me, is it presumptuous to account for my life's achievements as of now? There are many things worthy of beads and tattoos in my life, but the last thing I'd wish is to insult the spirits." Kin smiled at her pronouncement with a bit of pride.

"Certainly nothing is stopping you; many who leave the island for a long time add on many beads at a time, the spirits curious to hear of the world beyond the sea. Seeing as you are clearly committed to Brigid's culture, I would be honored to assist you in the matter." She said simply. "The spirits are fascinated by foreigners. The number of Adrestians who have deigned to speak to them through their skin is small, so I trust many spirits will wish to favor you, the best-beloved of the Jadeheart," she said confidently teasing grin on her face.

Dorothea looked at her then, truly stared her down. This woman was going to have a lot of power over her. Everything she'd said so far painted her in a favorable light, but it was her duty to be distrustful. Her responsibility to question her motives.

"But such a system, could one not lie fairly easily? Make up achievements one never managed?" she asked probingly. Kin gave a contemptuous snort.

"Unfortunately, this is true. We tattoo artists are the ones given the honor of hewing and coloring beads and giving them out after verification of claims that merit it. No one else, though some will try." She gave another soft snort. "Though, to my reckoning, to lie to the spirits is to take one's life into your own hands." She crossed her arms thoughtfully.

As you can imagine, verifying if one has fallen in love is a fool's errand. Thus, the colors of the beads. Yellow are human milestones, provable or not. Generally speaking, One might wear their blue and purple beads, which stand for military and exceptional achievements if they wished to impress. Red, personal goals verified by an artist, green for public acknowledgements, white for passing of loved ones, black for contributions to the arts... there are many more, and symbolic designs which make beads a language even laypersons understand at least generally. There are different implications for the shapes of the beads, and for some elaborate beads, there are also equivalents meant for day-to-day wear, as some can be bulky."

Dorothea's eyes gradually boggled, a delighted smile creeping onto her face as she learned of it. Oh, this was all so good. Fashion that expressed who you were as a person? Perfect. She needed to learn bead language immediately.

"Are there... books on the subject?" She asked, playing at nonchalance and failing. As if reading her mind, Kin picked up a book from beside her, slamming it onto the table with a powerful 'thunk.' "Admittedly it is a tool the court demands of you, so I was commissioned by the Palace to procure a copy of the civilian's encyclopedia to beads." She said simply.

"Civilian..?" She echoed thoughtfully. "As compared to tattoo artists, with the rules for creating new beads and forwarding them to the Tattoo Artist's guild for posterity and review," Kin clarified. "If you hear of anyone without a membership to the guild with one, it's a very serious offence."

"It seems you've given me some very exciting homework, Kin..." she said almost dreamily. Her own beads, what would they say about her? Would she be festooned in blacks? Or would there be more blues? The war felt like it lasted so much longer than the opera. And what of Asha? She'd have to ask Petra to tell her about her beads... oh, that was a good question.

"Are there any rules around asking after someone's beads and tattoos?" asked Dorothea excitedly, eyes honing onto Kin with laser precision. She gave an understated shrug.

"Nothing beyond good sense. It is rude to ask immediately, particularly if the color suggests it might be difficult, like with a white bead." She said simply, reaching to spread a number of sheets along the table covered in symbols and designs, pulling a blank one to herself, charcoal in-hand.

"It is also worth noting beads do not need to be worn. Some keep only a few important ones, as to account for each bead for some would be unmanageable," she clarified.

"Now, it is traditional for the royal family to tattoo opposing arms, as a sign of love and closeness. It is also traditional for the designs of one another's arms to be kept secret from the other, with only the artist to know until the day of the wedding how they will connect." She continued.

"But now that I have clarified these topics, we had best get to work. The sleeve is a time-consuming project, and I expect this will not be the only session we shall have," she said, quickly sketching a facsimile of Dorothea's left arm.

"When you think of your soon-to-be wife, what comes to mind, Dorothea?" she asked, not looking up from her parchment, focusing on it intensely.

"Beautiful. Deadly, kind. Dignified, striking. Protective, thoughtful, and so many other things..." she rattled off mindlessly, eyes clouding over with thoughts of her love. Kin gave a soft hum of affirmation.

"These are good traits. Do you imagine any particular images when you think of her? Natural sights, animals, items?"

This was a harder question for Dorothea. Petra, to her, was certainly many things. She saw in her mind's eye Petra's four swords, symbol of her role as mortal savant which she wore so proudly. She had fought and cursed for months to master even the basics of what she considered her shamanic potential, marrying the edge of her blade with the cutting gales she learned to summon.

Even Byleth had tried to dissuade her, suggesting wyvern lord or falcon knight as better roles, but she had been insistent. Understanding her commitment, she had let the matter lie, and used her deftly all the same.

"Her swords. Petra carried five into battle, two at each hip and one in-hand. The ones at her hips were single-edged, scabbarded," she began, falling into the lull of her stream of consciousness.

"She used her swords and her blades of wind in battle, one as sharp as the other. She danced as if she were a _donna_ on the stage, as beautiful as Manuela, moreso even. She was a lethal gale that cleaved through any who stood before her..."

Kin was taking notes feverishly, focused singularly on the task of understanding what made Petra special to her.

"But even so, she was so kind, so gentle. I remember one of the first things that attracted me to her all those years ago was her protectiveness. Bernadetta, when she was young, was so scared of everything, and Petra was so calm. She would speak to her in slow, even tones until she stopped crying when we went on missions, she was always there for her. When she was scared, she soothed her, protected her and all of us with teeth bared and sword out like an animal's fangs..." Oh, Petra was so beautiful then... Even at 15 she was stunning, practically a woman grown and protecting her elders with thoughtless dedication.

"She loved all of us, and would have died protecting any of us, and we would have done the same for her," she sighed dreamily, falling into those bloody memories to find the good times.

"She always ate my cooking when no one else would..." she mumbled quietly, the rare embarrassed blush creeping onto her cheeks. "I am not a good cook, but she'd clean her plate whenever I made one for her." She gave a quiet, tired sort of laugh. "I wanted so very much to make her a meal she liked, perhaps even make some Brigid food for her so she didn't feel so alone, but... I don't know how to cook, no matter how I try. Not like some people," she said sadly, eyes downcast.

"I think it was when she ate her entire plate and thanked me for the meal with a smile that I truly fell for her," she sighed wistfully.

"What did you make?" Asked Kin, eyes intense and boring into her own with the force of her question. Dorothea blinked, cheeks darkening at the memory.

"Oh, um... f-fish. There had been a tournament, to catch a rare fish for a girl at the monastery, and everyone was fishing, and I asked the Professor, that is, Empress Byleth, if there were any fish in the catch who might be native to Brigid. She didn't know, so she just gave me a Teutates Loach. I, um... I'd never cooked a fish, but I tried," she clasped her hands over her face. "It was so bad!"

"Go on," Kin urged in her soft rumble.

"So, um... I gutted it, and I got fish guts all over my uniform, nearly cried, and then I cut off the scales and a bunch of the meat with it accidentally and I just... cooked it. No salt, no herbs, and... I gave it to her, and she ate it." The memory was so precious to her, it felt so strange to speak it aloud. She never had.

"I didn't even debone it, a-and... she ate it, the whole thing, picked the bones and said thank you, and smiled and thanked me for thinking of her..." she whispered softly, a single tear running down her face.

"N-not because I was pretty, not because I knew magic, or could sing or dance, just... because I thought of her, and gave her a fish I made a mockery of, because she knew I'd tried." Kin said nothing more, committing marks, and Dorothea could see she was carefully marking down the name of the fish, for whatever she was imagining.

After a few moments of silence, Kin spoke up.

"This has been very productive, and I think that in due time I will have the design for a sleeve fit for a queen based off these anecdotes. I ask you another question, Miss Dorothea: what animal do you link with the High Jadeheart?" Asked Kin, eyes sharp, probing.

"A bear," Dorothea said instantly. "Petra is a sleek, beautiful bear. Strong, and dignified and fiercely powerful when pushed. She can break a beast's bones as easily as pick a fish from a river. And she protects her cubs with a mother's vicious love," she said, mouth moving without her input.

"Petra can make even violence seem an act of love. She would never commit acts of violence out of anything but necessity, and I've never seen her fight more viciously, more desperately than to protect those she considers to be hers. She fights for those she loves."

Kin's eyes softened, an unmistakable smile brightening her dour face.

"That is beautiful, Dorothea. I admit, your words have given me great comfort and respect for the character of our new Jadeheart," she said with a soft undercurrent of happiness.

She turned to the outline of an arm she had sketched earlier, deftly sketching powerful lines over it, forms appearing from the chaos as if by magic, Kin's charcoal a wand. She turned it to show Dorothea.

"So, the preliminary idea would perhaps look something like this..."

\---

It was time for the supplicant's court, one of her least favorite times of the week.

It was not that she disliked helping the common folk who perhaps did not have a voice within the Palace or its courts, more that the things some people considered important enough to queue for hours, even a day or more at a time to have addressed was often so... small in scope.

As she listened to the tearful story of the recent widow whose house was threatening to be taken back, even as she issued the order to fine the heartless lender and give her the proceeds, giving her the house and reducing her to tearful thank yous at hand and knee, all she could think of was that it would be so much easier to delegate this to someone else.

One of the things she had grudgingly learned to respect with regards to the Adrestian Empire even in her youth when all they had been were her captors was that its bureaucracy made the loosely-affiliated tribal structures of Brigid look frankly backwards. Ferdinand had taken great pride in showing her the Parliament building when they had passed through Enbarr, explaining in frankly impressive detail the wheels which turned to keep an empire's bureaucracy afloat.

In truth it had given her a whole new perspective on the man, who she long considered sweet and simple-minded, obsessed with honor and nobility. It turned out, he took the more obscure duties of his position just as seriously as he did his honorable posturing. She had never known just what a prime minister was, but once he had explained it she was very much taken with the idea. Checks, balances... good things to have.

It also gave her a great many ideas on how to structure Brigid's own systems and how toothily awkward it would be to make it happen. Scribes to train, an entirely new class of bureaucratic personnel to will into being, tribal law to harmonize and trample over.

She truly thought it was for the best, but spirits knew that once she began that process, it would be her life's work. It simply wasn't the time yet, still so early into her reign.

So, alas, she sat on her throne, and listened to petitioner after petitioner, trying her best to understand that to these people this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to have their voice heard by the highest power in Brigid. Even if to her it was just another day of the week and she would sooner have her lunch than listen to another grazing dispute.

Spirits, the land disputes alone would be the death of her if she didn't set up a proper bureaucracy to sort the issue.

The day dragged on interminably, until by some miracle the sun had set enough to be seen through the throne room's window and the remaining petitioners were shooed out with a collective groan of despair at their wasted time. When they had all left, she took the opportunity to stand up and stretch, muscles in her back crying out in relief.

She stepped out of the throne room, her guards disappearing into thin air as they always did when there were no more security concerns.

She was surprised, however, when she noticed the Tattoo Master, Kin, standing at the rear exit usually kept for staff and herself, arms giving her away instantly.

"Lady Kin, hello," she greeted politely, hiding her confusion behind her mask, still firmly in place after a long morning of petitions.

"I greet you, High Jadeheart," she responded with a bow.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked, continuing to walk as Kin followed.

"Merely a request for an appointment regarding your wife-to-be beyond the wedding preparations, Jadeheart." she stated simply.

Petra quirked a brow. "And you could not put this request in through one of my dignitaries to take up more of Dorothea's time?" she asked, confused. She shook her head resolutely.

"This is not for the wedding, Jadeheart. It is a matter of beads."

Oh. This explained things, then. Beads were a holy thing, and Kin was possessed of the right rare even among Tattooists to possess anyone's time should she deem it necessary to prove a bead's claim.

"You wife-to-be requires your services as creditable witness for numerous accomplishments, and I would like to budget time for the matter."

Petra was admittedly caught flat-footed. When she had heard of Dorothea coming to Brigid, she had been elated. She still planned to show her the beaches she adored, among so many more things, but... her culture was foreign to her, she knew. She had never spoken of her adornments, or anything more than the barest explanations of her mark.

The thought of her marking herself, not just for her wedding and for her but committing entirely to Brigid's culture was amazing to her and filled her with a terrified, disbelieving excitement.

"Truly? She wishes for beads?" She asked, years of practice the only thing keeping her voice from floating away from her.

"Not only that, I understand she has many to account for and it would be best to account for all of them in one session if so. I have explained the process to her, and she states she will have a list compiled within two days."

"And--she understands the significance?" she asked, voice small as they walked alone through the palace halls, her original destination forgotten.

"Better than some natives, I'd say," she said with a reassuring smile, massive hand a reassuring weight on her shoulder. "She wishes to do well by you, Jadeheart. She does not wish to reflect poorly on you as an unbeaded, untattooed foreigner, from what I have gathered. She wants the spirits to know her," she said, retaking her hand when Petra stopped in a stretch of hallway far from any doors.

"I—I see," she answered dazedly, her heart overflowing with the love she bore Dorothea. All of those selfish fantasies of her youth returned to her once more. Dorothea in the garb of her people, beaded and tattooed, boating together, catching fish and dancing by the fire on the beach, drinking and telling one another of their beads and tattoos, touching and examining each bead and tattoo, closer and closer until...

she shook herself out of her reverie before it could capture her properly.

"Of course. Once Dorothea offers you her list of accomplishments and you mark which require verification, speak to Minister Rakka. She will make the time." She said, mask back in place, giving a definitive nod. Perhaps, when she joined her for the verification she should wear more of her beads, show her how many she had accumulated over the years...

Kin nodded deferentially. "Very good, Jadeheart. I bid you good day, then," she offered in parting, headed towards the palace's main entrance.

As she watched her hulking form walk deceptively gracefully away, only one thought kept her from falling back into daydreams of Dorothea resplendent in blues and purples and blacks.

...Where had she been going before all this..?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is tentative, mind, but I'm starting to form a posting schedule. Jadeheart Monday or Tuesday, Viridian Stars on the Weekend. Just as a heads up! As ever I invite comments and questions!


	9. Spirits and Ceremonies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petra and Dorothea undertake the bead ceremony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I opened up a discord for anyone who'd like to talk about Jadeheart! discord.gg/KKk8jn5 It's an all-ages discord with a smut board for us gross Olds.
> 
> Come join me! It's lonely out here in Brigid. Whether you want to talk about Jadeheart itself, Fire Emblem, or just whatever it is nerds on the internet talk about you're all welcome! :>

Dorothea had done as she promised, Petra had learned. With a kindness uncommon from her beloved Grandmother, she had spoken to her between meetings to let her know that Dorothea's bead ceremony had been scheduled, and she was to be prime, and only witness the next day.

She'd grasped her shoulder and said she trusted Dorothea would look beautiful in her beads and said nothing more, disappearing down a side corridor as was her way.

In some way that was what made her surprising, unexpected conversation with Kin the day before actually real.

Dorothea wished to be beaded, and inked in the Brigid way. She was serious about being her bride and about being a part of her culture.

It made her heart soar. She hadn't seen either of her girls the day before, regrettably; apparently Dorothea had a long day of marriage preparations and documentation for her ceremony, and Asha was being put through her paces with her old swords instructor in-between her standard classes. Everyone was exhausted and working hard, simply put and she was no exception.

It was a busy time in the palace, which made it all the more important the three of them came together for dinner that night in her rooms.

When they'd all been seated and the servant who brought their food dismissed with a word of thanks, they all seemed to take turns staring each other down.

Poor Asha looked exhausted. Her hair needed a wash, and despite how she tried to hide it both she and Dorothea could see the way her hands shook, the sign of a demanding lesson and yet more demanding physical conditioning session.

"Look at you, little cub. Getting some muscle on those arms!" cheered Petra gently, giving Asha's forearm a squeeze when she'd finished a bite.

Asha gave a tired smile. "If this is the price I have to pay for arms like yours I think I might be willing to do without," she murmured softly.

Petra gave a gentle nod. "I understand. Training is very hard, to start. But it will get easier, on that I give my word," she offered, picking a piece of breaded chicken from a serving platter and putting it on her plate.

"Now eat, little cub. You need your strength," she offered gently. Asha nodded, taking the bite of chicken all in one go.

Dorothea reached over, gently massaging her shoulder. "It's not too much, is it Asha? You're allowed to ask for some leniency you know," said Dorothea, ever thoughtful.

Petra nodded, taking a bit of green beans. "Dorothea is right, Asha. We want you to work hard, but we would never want you to hurt yourself in the doing. If you need some relief, just say so. We can't help if you don't talk to us," she assured, eyes briefly locking with hers.

She was becoming so beautiful before her eyes, she mused. Her hair was growing, skin softer and Asha was going to have her own bead ceremony soon, before the wedding. Grandmother Rakka had told her she had not seen a Tattooist in years, and whatever beads she did have were lost when she was forced to live on the streets.

"No, I'm fine. It is tiring, but... I am eating well, and sleeping better. I can handle it," she said softly, as she always did. Petra couldn't stop herself from reaching forward, gently stroking her off-hand. Spirits, but she wanted her to be happy. She wonder what story her beads would say, when she reclaimed them.

The Tattooist's bond was sacrosanct; what she told them would never leave that room. Which, perhaps, was for the best. Asha had not let herself share those details, and she would not want to learn it without her consent. But they could still read her beads, and get an idea at the least.

Despite herself, she looked at her... her ward. All she wanted was for her to be happy. But it was never that simple, was it? She ate some grilled banana.

"We're here for you, Asha," she murmured gently, stroking a thumb over her hand. Asha looked down, blushing. "I--I know. P-Petra. You are always so kind to me," she whispered.

"Because it's our duty, sweetling," interjected Dorothea, stroking her back. "You are one of the most important things in our world. You deserve to feel cared for," she said, resolute.

Petra nodded. "Yes. We care about you before any other people in our world," she said definitively.

Asha was silent for a long time after that before she breathed a soft "thank you. I will uphold your faith in me."

Petra stroked her hair. "You only need to do your best, cub," she said softly.

With that their conversation slowly ebbed and they finished their meal. It was a quiet night from then on; they walked to Asha's room, and both kissed her good night at the door. Petra kneeled down and wrapped her arms around the pretty girl who was gradually putting on a bit more healthy weight.

"Should you ever need it, there is a passage in your closet behind a false wall that leads to my rooms. No matter the reason," she whispered conspiratorially. "Be warned, Dorothea has a similar passage too, so... perhaps knock first." When she pulled back she took in her wide eyes, giving her another gentle kiss to her forehead and a teasing wink.

"Good night, little cub," she said gently.

With that, they were left alone in the hallway with a soft 'click.' She turned to Dorothea then, eyes gleaming.

"So... your bead ceremony is tomorrow, I'm told..." she murmured gently, nervously.

Dorothea nodded, tight smile on her face. "I do hope you can attend, O Jadeheart..." she murmured. Only she managed to make her title like a pet name. She liked it.

"I would not miss it for the world," she whispered intensely, wrapping her in her arms and pulling her close. She nuzzled her.

"You cannot know what this means to me, my love..." she murmured, voice small. Dorothea gave a soft chuckle, tilting her head up to look at her.

"While I'm flattered, my love, this is for me more than you," she said gently. "This is my home now, and I want to be part of it."

She held her silently for a time, before she spoke once more: "You have a gift for saying precisely the right thing, my love..." she sighed into her. She leaned up and left a chaste kiss on Dorothea's cheek, letting go and stepping back, walking hand-in-hand with her to her room.

They turned to face each other once more in front of her room, a mirror of how they stood in front of Asha's.

"I will be here first thing in the morning to escort you to the Tattooist," she said firmly. Dorothea nodded in turn.

"Guess we'd better get some sleep then, huh?" she said, gently teasing. Petra gave a pained smile.

"Yes, unfortunately so. We both need our rest," she murmured in assent. She leaned forward slowly, gently pressing her lips against Dorothea's. "Sleep well, my heart," she breathed before pulling back.

Dorothea brushed the hair out of her face nervously, pretty blush on her pale skin. "You as well, my beloved..." she said as she regretfully slid into her rooms, sliding the door closed.

Quietly, she returned to her own chambers, dishes already removed.

In thoughtless rote, she changed herself into her sleep clothes, robe of office hung, clothing tossed in the hamper as she cocooned herself in silken sheets.

Any more nervous and her hands would start shaking, she mused. She knew Dorothea was treating this seriously, but all the same she felt like a mother watching their child going on their first hunt: fearful, excited, terrifically nervous.

Well, that was a line of questioning that served no one. She needed to rest.

With mind whirling, she took cleansing breaths. Her training as a Mortal Savant had taught her many forms of calming meditation, and she used one now, as she prayed for the sun to rise sooner.

* * *

The morning was sharp and bright. Petra gave a soft, piteous moan as the first ray of sunlight filtered through her window and into her face.

It was as good an alarm as any. Come dawn, she woke if she left her curtains open. And, despite the animal desire to curl deeper into her blankets, she sat up.

Today was important.

Silently, she went about preparing for the day. There were no maids today, because she had said she didn't require them.

She got changed, garbing herself in the royal purple of her family. Silver bangles, to match the accents of her elastic combat dress. Half-skirt, shorts and a tight, almost corset-like chest binding. That, in addition to her leather shoulder-guard and her sword-belt gave what she thought was a distinctive look.

She seated herself before her vanity, unusually nervous. She fluffed out her hair, staring at the few beads she kept in her hair on an average day.

She rarely kept more than five. When she had been taken from Brigid. When the war ended. When she had fallen in love for the first (and last) time. Her ascendance to the throne. When her father died.

Today was not about her, though. She opened her small wooden jewelry box set atop her vanity, idly sifting through her many beads, savoring the slithering sound of them.

Dorothea was still a novice to beads. Perhaps... yes. She'd never worn all her beads at once, such would be silly. But perhaps she could bring them for her to look over, and learn from.

Perhaps... she could give her this drawer set, even. It had been in her family for generations. She would appreciate the gift.

She nodded to herself before she could second-guess herself. She took a fine cloth bag from the box's confines, gently scooping her beads into it until it was empty.

She gave a soft sigh, finding a square of cloth big enough to wrap it in her closet, tying it tightly to keep it a surprise.

She could feel how nervous she was, but she could not let it rule her. She was the Jadeheart. She sat down back in front of her vanity, reaching for her make-up. It had been a long time since she'd been made to do it herself, but her hands were steady and her form clean.

Carefully, she marked herself. Kohl trailed delicately along her eyes, gentle dusting of color at her cheekbones. Her jewel earrings, small studs, pale but luminous; diamond. Mountain-shard, a gift from the Mountain untold centuries ago. She sighed quietly.

Less was more. Anything else would be her wasting time.

With no further excuses, she stood, making her way to Dorothea's room.

She gave a soft knock. "Coming," came a soft voice from the other side.

She stood awkwardly, looking to all the world like a date waiting for their partner to finish preparing in the way she nervously bounced from foot to foot, focusing on the door knob, the wood grain, anything to keep her mind occupied.

When the door finally began to slide open, Petra's heart leapt into her throat. Once more, she was resplendent in her people's clothing; red and silver, utterly dignified. Back straight, long sleeve hanging delicately as she gave a gentle wave. Eyes bright, lashes dark and striking, looking to all the world like the dancer the war had made her in her frilled skirt.

She looked like some kind of beautiful tropical fish, glinting in the morning light.

"H—hello, Dorothea," she squeaked awkwardly. Petra felt like she was burning alive under her gaze as she stared at her dress, her face so intensely.

"Petra," she said melodically. "Shall we?" She said with a cheerful smile, offering her hand.

"Of course," she answered instantly.

The palace was still sleeping, for the most part. They smelled breakfast starting as they passed the kitchens, and there was the rare maid going about their morning rituals. But for once, the palace was not their concern, therapeutically enough.

Their palanquin awaited them in the courtyard. Gently, Petra slid the door to the two-person palanquin open, bowing to gesture Dorothea in. "My lady," she said with a teasing smile.

Dorothea gave a soft chuckle. "Not till the wedding, Jadeheart," she said, raking her fingers along her chest as she slid into the palanquin, Petra following.

They were seated comfortably across from one another, feet almost touching. Mercifully the both of them were not terrifically tall, so there was room and the sunlight bathed them in soft light through the rice paper screens.

"We should arrive within an hour," stated Petra.

Dorothea gave a sound of affirmation, staring blindly out of the window, unusually solemn.

Now was her chance, she supposed. Quietly, she pulled her bag of beads from its knot with the jewelry box, placing it in the space between them with a gentle clatter. The velveteen material of the bag almost glimmered in the light.

"Oh?" questioned Dorothea, "what's this?" She asked, reaching forward to pick it gently open.

"My, ah--" she coughed. "My beads," she said softly. Dorothea pulled her fingers back as if they'd been burned.

"Ah, it's okay!" She assured, hand reaching forward to land on her ankle reassuringly. "I brought them here so... so you could see them," she stuttered.

"Show me..?" Dorothea asked, starry-eyed.

"W-well, you will be getting your own s-soon, so I thought perhaps--maybe you'd like to see some of mine, since I will... I will know where yours came from," she stuttered out. Spirits, she was a mess. She was a mess, she needed to calm down, she was stuttering like she had as a child!

"Oh," sighed Dorothea softly, hand sliding up to her heart. "I... would like that very much, Petra," she said, voice painfully soft.

Spirits protect her, but when she said her name she fell to pieces. Nervously, she reached into the bag, sifting quietly for a bead with a story she could tell to distract herself. She pulled a read bead out, marked by a single narrow black triangle.

"My first hunt," she supplied. "I was 9, and I shot a deer. I felt so nervous that I ran over with a knife and slit her throat as fast as I could," she said, seemingly chagrined.

"Why?" Asked Dorothea gently.

"I had missed the killing blow, and I did not want to see her in pain," was her simple response. She heard Dorothea give a soft 'oh', staring down at the small red bead as it sat on the palanquin's swaying floor.

She pulled out a pair of beads, bone-white and bound by a silver ring. "My parents," she said, tone blank. "Their beads were bound when father went to join mother. To symbolize their bond, and that he never remarried."

Dorothea remained silent for a time, before volunteering. "Beads can change over time?" She asked gently, clearly treading lightly. Petra gave a sharp nod.

"It is relatively common. Many hunters, fishermen, they mark their successful hunts or catches on their beads, for example," she explained softly, placing the bead next to its red cousin.

Next, she pulled out a yellow bead, swirling lines traveling in and out of the ring's center. "A philosopher's bead," she said with a rueful smile. "When I felt I understood what the spirits wanted of me as a child."

She placed it down delicately. She reached for a blue bead this time, marked by a continuous dotted line around its length. "You will have this one, too. This was for Remire," she said, tone grim. "Somewhere, I have my first kill's bead, but Remire was different, as you know."

Dorothea matched her energy, frowning in thought. There was a gentle knock at one of the windows. "A moment more, Jadeheart," said one of the attendants. She had to admit to being impressed that they could continue their pace even while stretching like that.

Wordlessly, Petra began putting away the beads into their bag, sliding them into a pocket of her robes. It bulged slightly, but that hardly mattered. This was to be Dorothea's moment.

"I'm nervous," laughed Dorothea. Sensing what she wanted, she reached a hand over, grasping hers.

"It's okay. I'll be there with you," she promised softly as the palanquin was seated. She slid back into place, and the door opened with a soft 'clack.' She grasped the attendant's hand, pulling herself up and doing the same for Dorothea.

And there they stood, at Kin's workshop. As one of the highest-level Tattooists of the guild, her work was prized and her services kept not for the wealthy but the important. To be invited to the relatively humble two-floor building just off from downtown was an honor in and of itself for most. She grabbed Dorothea's hand, flashing her what she hoped was an encouraging smile.

Dorothea gave a shaky sigh, squeezing her hand tightly before knocking at the door gently.

It was half a moment until the door slid open, Kin appearing in her burly glory, looking much the same as she had in the palace.

"Dorothea, Jadeheart," she greeted with a nod for each of them. She stretched a huge hand out, gesturing inside. "Please, come in."

They followed Kin as she led them past what she recognized as her tattoo parlor, hidden behind screen doors, They made their way up the stairs, into a small room. It was almost akin to her meeting room in her chambers in size, three pillows set on the floor, one on one side, two on the other, the single pillow flanked by a large mural dedicated to the spirits, an idol sitting by it.

Kin was deft in her work; she lit incense and awakened the spirit inside its idol, a floating fire sitting at the tip of her finger as she reached in to light it from the inside. When she pulled her finger out of its mouth, she placed it before them. It was a strange idol, very unlike the jade idols that bore her ancestors. It had huge, glowing eyes, a small, circular mouth. Its small, deformed hands clasped together as it sat cross-legged before them with its face in a perpetually surprised rictus.

The number of Tattooists blessed with an idol were few and far between, and the occasions to awaken the spirit within one even rarer. Despite herself, Petra was excited for what was to come.

"This is Xantcha," said Kin softly, stroking the idol's head fondly. "He will bear witness to your deeds, and tell the spirits of them." She said simply.

"Can I greet him?" Asked Dorothea excitedly. She had to smother an amused snort. Dorothea did so love to be personable, didn't she?

"You may, but please don't touch him," said Kin good-naturedly as she opened a drawer pulling out sheets Dorothea herself had likely penned herself if she had to guess as to their provenance.

Dorothea gave the little psychopomp a cheery wave. "Hello, Xantcha! I'm Dorothea. It's nice to meet you, you're the first spirit I've met," she said nicely. Kin gave a soft noise of amusement as she placed her sheets down, and deftly grabbed a rattling wooden box she could only assume possessed beads. She took a seat.

"Yes, Xantcha is a sweet boy. He is a good messenger, and loves to hear stories and he likes games," Kin said fondly. "A bit of a homebody though, he likes his idol."

Dorothea gave a polite laugh, the both of them waiting for Kin to begin properly.

Kin's demeanor shifted as the small room gradually filled with the strangely acrid smoke, growing serious. She clapped her massive hands once, leaving her ears ringing.

"Xantcha, show yourself to us," she said firmly. The idol's eyes flickered strangely, as the idol seemed to swallow up the smoke in one great gasp, clearing the air significantly. After a moment of silence staring as the hungry idol held in its meal, slowly, a gray-white hand crawled out of its mouth, then a tiny head, and a whole body, possessed of a tail. It fell out of the idol, landing on its haunches staring pure-black eyes at Dorothea, little black pinpricks, its face a perfect replica of its idol. When it seated itself properly, clasping its hands the resemblance became undeniable. He sat politely in front of his idol, like the delicate little smoke creature he was.

"This is Xantcha," said Kin gently. "He will listen to your stories."

Dorothea looked upon him with naked wonderment, and she couldn't say she blamed her. The spirits were quiet and secretive, and only after centuries of conversation had they learned to trust humans enough to live in the homes they built them. Even she had only had one experience that didn't take place in a Tatooist's home with a physically expressed spirit akin to little Xantcha.

"Now, Dorothea... this is a lifetime's worth of stories to tell, so perhaps it would be wise if we simply... began at the beginning. As a child, who were you? What do you remember? What was important to that younger version of you?" Asked Kin.

Dorothea took a deep breath. "Well..."

* * *

They had been at it for hours, and they were all tired, save, perhaps, for Xantcha. The smoke burned their eyes, and at one point Kin had left to procure a jug of water for them all. Xantcha, at least, seemed rapt with interest over Dorothea's stories, never moving from his spot, the only sign of his attention the way his eternally-surprised face followed the movements of Dorothea's own.

She hadn't known just how much Manuela had helped her, when she was young. There's a lot of things she didn't know until she'd sat in for this meeting. She was always happy to clarify her points, or back up her claims though. Even if she had not seen her at the Mittelfrank, her position as Jadeheart gave her word weight.

But Petra hardly knew what to do when she'd cried. Ingrid had been a friend, she knew. A friend she'd sent crumpling out of the sky with a well-aimed Thoron, steed and rider both crashing to earth with obvious lethality. But there had been no time for tears, then. They'd fought, and fought, putting down old friends with brutal precision borne of many battles just like this one, where the only law was to kill or be killed.

She hadn't cried, then. They'd simply kept walking, kept fighting. Edelgard had inspired them, bandaged their hurts and reminded them why they did what they were doing, that the King of Delusion had lost himself completely and that to put him down was a kindness.

She didn't cry then, but she did now, and Petra was deliriously thankful she had been there to hold her. She hadn't known how close she and Ingrid had been all those years ago.

She vowed to tell her of each and every one of her beads. She couldn't stand having such knowledge of Dorothea without sharing her own. It was too imbalanced.

By the end of the session, they were fused together, Petra soothing her as she wept before Xantcha, of the pain the war had caused her. First it was so joyous, so exciting, raised up from the streets, the Opera's _prima donna,_ the Monastery, and then... then it all became so unspeakably terrible. Friend against friend, Edelgard made to behead her own half-brother.

And then they'd killed a god. She took a quiet satisfaction at seeing how even Kin's eyes widen when they spoke of the Immaculate One's fall, of their Professor's miraculous survival. The world itself, under the sway of a would-be god and those who hated her and both ended by the Black Eagles' blade.

When she and Dorothea were tasked with ripping the Slitherers out of their burrows she was not ashamed to say she took pleasure in bringing justice upon the monsters who'd made all this horror come true. She did not understand the history of the Agarthans, not truly, but she didn't need to. She'd seen them do enough with her own eyes to know they needed to be torn out by the roots.

Petra was lost in her bloody musings for a time, unsure where in her story Dorothea had reached until she'd squeezed her hand tightly, breaking her from her reverie.

"And then Petra got on a knee and asked to marry," she said voice choked. "And I said, only if we adopt Asha. And she said yes to that too. And then," she was shaking now, a fresh salvo of tears running down her cheeks. "Then Asha did too, and I'm so happy I don't have the words for it, Xantcha!" she managed to gasp out, wide smile on her face. "I don't know what I did to deserve this, but until the day I die I will cherish it," she swore before the spirit who continued to stare, unblinking.

She gave a breathy, blustering sigh, making Xantcha waver in the wind for a moment. "But that... that is my life, I suppose," she said with exhausted finality. Kin looked up from her notes, rubbing her eyes.

"You've lived an eventful one, Dorothea," said Kin with an exhausted smile, fingers stained black from coal, a veritable stack of notes next to where se sat in the opposing corner to where Xantcha and Dorothea had sat face to face.

"Xantcha, darling? You can go back to your friends now," said Kin gently. Slowly, the little sprite stood up, turning to face Kin and then turning to Dorothea, With silence she'd come to link with the spirits, he walked quietly to Dorothea's hand, wrapping himself around it and nuzzling into her, to their wide-eyed amazement. He pulled back and gave a gentle wave, before, with a motion much like Kin when she'd summoned him, he clapped, the force of his own strike making his body disappear in a puff of smoke, the idol's eyes slowly burning out.

"...I've never seen him do that," said Kin dumbfounded.

"Well, you said you thought the spirits would like me," said Dorothea shakily, smile at her lips, forcing a full-on bark of laughter from the dour woman.

"You caught me, bride-to-be! I did say that!" She laughed, slapping her thigh beneath the table. "Oh, spirits," she murmured, wiping an amused tear from her eye.

"We have our notes, you two. It will take some time to prepare such a volume of beads, particularly such powerful ones, but the Spirits will be sure to discuss the special cases in short order, and we will have them. I'll bring them as they are ready during your tattoo appointments, alright Dorothea?" She said with her typical simple clarity.

Dorothea nodded, following Kin's lead as she stood up. "Now, I know you wished to discuss tattoos, but I fear we've eaten through all the time I'd budgeted for this meeting, and the safety, so we will have to address the matter at a later time," she noted as she led them back to the entrance to her home, palanquin long-gone.

"Now, Jadeheart, I trust you will give her a night to remember, after her first meeting with the spirits?" Teased Kin from the doorway.

Petra simply smiled in return, Kin giving them a final nod as she closed the door leaving them alone in the alley.

"Where's the palanquin?" Asked Dorothea, confused.

"Sent it home," said Petra slyly. "It is traditional to celebrate a bead ceremony, and certainly one as massive as yours," she continued. "So, I'm taking us for a night on the town," she said with a bright smile, delighting in the way Dorothea's face lit up.

"Really!?" She cried, jumping in place and clearly stopping herself from tackling her with a hug because she was still holding her beads and her gift.

"You've still only been here not even a season, what sort of host would I be not to show you the sights?" She said, perfectly blasé, as if she hadn't been planning this from the moment she woke up, like she'd left her robes at home on a lark.

Dorothea grinned. "Lead the way, Petra," she whispered lovingly into her ear.


	10. Date Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The title says it all.

The Capital reminded her more than she thought it would of Enbarr at night. Shining lamps hung in windows and by doorframes coaxing the bustling late afternoon foot traffic to enter this shop or that restaurant, throngs of people forcing them to hold hands or be lost in the crush as Petra led them confidently to whatever their first stop was meant to be.

She weaved effortlessly through the crowds in a way that the street rat in her could not help but recognize as an expert in the art of getting from one place to another in a metropolis. Did Petra spend a lot of time out here in the city, then? Dorothea's mind whirled, lost in the push of the crowd, the shining lights and the feel of Petra's calloused hand against hers.

It took perhaps a half hour before they reached their destination, an unassuming eatery near the beach marked simply by a wooden sign marked by a fish, a second sign strapped on beneath it with a shrimp, lobster and crab.

Petra turned, excited smile on her face. "You have never had sushi, yes?" she asked.

Dorothea blinked, finger to her chin. "No, I don't think I have. What is it?" she asked curiously.

Petra's smile deepened. "One of Brigid's finest delicacies," she said simply, bringing them through the doorway to be greeted with the surprisingly clean scent of ocean and salt. A pretty young woman in what Dorothea recognized as particularly traditional garb, light cotton robe artfully wrapped and knotted to form a short dress bowed to them both as they entered the small and surprisingly crowded restaurant.

"Hello," began Petra, "I and my companion would like a private booth, please," she stated, radiating authority. The hostess looked up from her bow with new eyes, seeming to recognize who was speaking to her. Silently, she nodded, picking up two menus from her station and walking them through small dividing curtains dividing the bar where fish sat on beds of ice as a chef worked to cut and style them to one of a number of cramped booths, barely able to seat two comfortably, hidden by a cloth curtain.

They took their seats, the hostess respectfully handing them their menus. "I shall return shortly with your refreshments," she said clearly, excusing herself with another bow.

Dorothea watched her go, interest piqued. "Okay, I'll bite. What's sushi?" Asked Dorothea with a teasing smile. Petra matched it with one of her own.

"Expertly prepared sea life in the Brigid style. To gain the accreditation of sushi chef takes years of training," she said proudly. "You will be pleasantly surprised, my love."

Dorothea couldn't help but give a soft giggle at her fiancée's pride over fish. "I'm sure I will, darling," she said gently.

The hostess returned with a polite bow, bearing two clay carafes, placing them in the center of the table and offering a pair of matching clay saucers.

"Compliments from the chef for our esteemed guests," she stated politely, unveiling a slim glass bottle which she uncorked and deftly filled the carafes with, the smell of alcohol briefly mixing with the scent of the sea.

"Have the ladies decided on a first course?" She inquired.

Petra sent an inquiring look Dorothea's way, who gave an assenting nod.

"We will have what the chef recommends to match his kind gift," she said crisply. The hostess nodded, disappearing into the darkness, bottle and carafes the only evidence of her presence.

"Rice wine," volunteered Petra, reaching forward to pour a carafe into the saucer in front of Dorothea.

"It can be served hot or cold, much like your grape wines," she said happily. Dorothea looked down at the clear liquid in the saucer pensively.

"Once we have food in front of us," she said with a smile. Petra was so sweet, she was like a puppy eager to have her enjoy all of the things she held dear. It made her chest ache for love of her.

It was all a bit incredible, even now. She'd spoken to a spirit today. Not a ghost, a spirit, and now the de facto queen of Brigid was taking her out for dinner. Despite herself, she found herself blushing.

In record time, they suddenly had wooden boards slid in front of them, delicately sliced fish placed atop rice with a small divot holding a brown sauce.

"Goodness, that was quick!" gasped Dorothea, staring down at the beautifully orange-red flesh of the fish, chopsticks placed beside the board delicately. Very pretty ones at that, prettier even than the Palace's, painted with delicate coiling golden creatures crawling up the sticks, skin glittering in the soft light of the lamp above them.

"Speed is integral with sushi; it must be as fresh as possible," volunteered Petra helpfully. "A trained sushi chef can butcher a fish in a minute."

Dorothea was fascinated, staring down at the delicate little bite-sized portions placed before her curiously, but waiting for Petra to take the first bite.

As if sensing her, Petra did just that; she took her chopsticks picking up one of the small rice-and-fish hors d'oeuvres and quickly dipping it in the sauce before taking it down in a single bite, an involuntary groan of pleasure sliding out of her as she began to chew and swallow.

After she'd swallowed, Petra eagerly pointed to her own fish, eagerly urging her to take her own. "Take it in one bite, the chef makes each bite perfect," she urged, eyes glimmering excitedly.

Dorothea did as she was told, taking the bite and dabbing it quickly in the sauce as Petra did, before taking it all in one bite.

Dorothea had never considered herself excessively fond of fish; certainly, it could be good, even great if prepared properly, but the luxury of a good steak was the height of protein as she knew it from her time at the Opera.

But this... this was something else entirely. It was an explosion of flavor, so terrifically clean and clear, the fish melded perfectly with the rice and the delicate tang of the sauce. It had none of the "fishiness" she'd come to associate with the dish.

It was all she could do to keep her moan close-mouthed as she swallowed. Without a further word, she reached forward to grab her saucer of rice wine, downing it in a single gulp, giving a loud, satisfied gasp. After savoring the burn for a moment, her eyes locked with Petra, who was looking far too smug.

"I'm mad at you," she pouted, pulling back. Before the statement could actually alarm her skittish darling, she clarified however: "it's quite rude to keep such an amazing thing secret you know! You should send some sushi chefs to the mainland, that will impress high society no problem!" She said quite sincerely, fighting the urge to have the next piece immediately.

Petra simply smiled, filling her saucer once more. Sensing some sort of ritual at play, Dorothea did the same for Petra, who nodded thankfully with a warm smile.

"Honestly, I've never had fish that was half as good! Did they catch this an hour ago?" She asked, vaguely incredulous.

"Quite likely," Petra said with a smile. "It's not even cooked, you know," she finished with a teasing gleam in her eyes.

"Well perhaps I'll get into the habit of eating raw fish if flavor like this is what I can expect," she countered, not falling for the bait. It was probably bait, just her teasing the foreigner, right? Even if it were raw she didn't care, this was great.

She took up another piece, locking eyes with Petra who did the same. "To beads and cute little smoke monsters," toasted Dorothea happily, dipping her piece in synch with Petra, both savoring their bites and slamming their drinks in impressively accurate timing.

Dorothea gave a breathy giggle, the alcohol beginning to get to her, cheeks flushing prettily. She could never hope to match Manuela when she had taken her out to hunt for men, being ever the light-weight. Her role had more often been to drag her back home as she bemoaned her rotten luck.

How long had it been since she'd just gone to a restaurant with a friend, got drunk and laughed? She didn't know anymore.

"I love you," Dorothea said suddenly, face showing naked emotion. "So much."

Petra showcased a blush of her own, awkwardly pouring Dorothea another drink.

"As do I," she mumbled awkwardly. "S-sushi is very unique, it is originally from the Western end of the Northern Twin, farthest away from the mainland," she mumbled, clearly a bit off-balance. "I-I'm sorry, that was silly," she admitted, taking a sip straight from her carafe.

Dorothea reached a hand out, grasping hers gently. "What is it, my darling?" She asked gently, worried.

"It is simply that... I am not— I wish to keep those words all to myself," she said softly, practically a whisper.

"I don't want to share you, or let another soul hear those words but you, even by accident," she murmured intensely, staring down at her final piece of sushi. Dorothea gave her hand another gentle squeeze.

"Okay, darling. It'll be our secret, okay?" She said, conciliatory. "You can't stop me from hugging and kissing you though. I'm only human," she teased, giving Petra's nose a kiss over the narrow table for good measure. Petra blushed and looked away.

"Okay, just... p-please keep it to when we're in good company, alright?" She said, evidently embarrassed with herself for even asking such a thing. It was a strange request, Dorothea had to admit, but she likely understood public gestures in a very different way than she did. She gave a firm nod, before taking her final piece of sushi and fulfilling the ritual, finished the last of her carafe with her last pour.

"Ahhh. That's a really a pleasant dining experience, I have to admit," she said cheerily, cheeks burning red. Petra did the same, and they sat quietly in the booth for a time, savoring the warm light and the pleasant haziness of a few drinks.

The hostess appeared after a time, bowing and clearing their table. The hostess inquired as to further courses, to which Petra politely declined, requesting the cheque, which the hostess demurred but Petra insisted upon.

As the hostess went to itemize their bill, Petra pulled up her mysterious package, wrapped as it was in plain cloth. "This is for you," she said softly, nervously.

"On this day, when you have spoken your deeds to the spirits and earned your beads, becoming a part of Brigid's cultural tapestry, I come bearing a gift," she said with all the formality her tipsiness could manage.

Dorothea kept silent, staring with round eyes at the mysterious present Petra had been lugging all day. "So... can I..?" Asked Dorothea haltingly.

"You may," confirmed Petra with a solemn nod, pushing it towards her as the hostess returned, Petra carelessly handing her a glass coin painted in garish colors with a dismissive "keep the change," which effortlessly made the hostess disappear leaving Petra to stare at Dorothea intensely as she prepared to open her gift.

It was no great production; a delicate tug at the knot, and the cloth fell away, leaving the chest naked for her to gaze upon. She gazed upon it eyes wide, mouth agape as Petra quietly opened it from behind, placing her bag of beads into its top shelf.

"For your beads," Petra said softly. "It has held Macneary beads for many generations."

Dorothea was speechless. Dorothea had no history. She was a street rat, she did not know her mother's name, never mind had anything of hers. Delicately, terrified, she traced a feather-light finger along the smooth, varnished wood. How many stories has this box held? All for Macnearys... and she would be one of them, soon. And now hers would live inside it too? Petra's beads were sitting there, offering themselves openly to her.

"My beads are there so you can -- so you can study them at your leisure as you learn about beads from Kin's manual," she volunteered, seemingly spooked by the silence.

Dorothea caressed the delicate satin-like material of the bead bag worshipfully. She hid quietly behind the lid of the jewelry box, eyes shining. She would not cry in a sushi restaurant, she wouldn't.

"I'm mad at you," she said again softly. "Giving me such a sweet gift in public, I'm about to cry, you meanie..." she said trying to come off as teasing and only managing to sound weepy.

"Goddess," she gasped, quietly closing the box, pulling it close and holding it tight.

"I'll cherish it, she managed through a choked throat.

Petra gently reached a hand forward, wrapping it around Dorothea's which was hugging the jewelry box.

They sat in silence, mercifully alone.

"Would you like to go someplace more private, Dorothea?" asked Petra softly, to which Dorothea could only nod shakily. Gently, Petra stood, and Dorothea followed. They held hands the whole way through the crowded restaurant, leaving without fanfare, Dorothea clutching the box and cloth in her off hand.

She followed Petra like a lost child, her whole world off-balance. Somehow the box in her hands made it all the more real, what she was doing. She was going to be a Brigidian. She was going to be a part of Petra's family. Not her spymaster, not her mage, her wife. They would have a daughter with the name Macneary.

Despite herself she was crying by the time they reached the beach, sun setting in a riotous spray of yellows and reds and purples and oranges that made the sea gleam like gold. At some point after a long time walking on the beach together they simply stopped and stared as the sun continued to sink in one of the most beautiful natural phenomena she'd ever seen.

"It's beautiful," she whispered quietly, her soul empty but for the simple majesty of it all. She'd seen the sun set a thousand times, but never like this.

"Yes," whispered Petra. When she turned to see what Petra was looking at, she kissed her.

It was a soft, gentle, loving thing, only a few seconds long before she pulled back. The way Petra looked at her when they broke the kiss all but killed her.

"The sun shines through your tears," she said softly, kissing each away one by one. "The spirits love you, to mark you with the gift of the sun like that, my love."

Dorothea gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I'm--I'm not so special as all that... as all this..." she murmured, staring at her feet.

"'M still not sure what you see in me..." she whispered, only to have Petra hold her close.

"You are everything I have ever wanted and more," whispered Petra fiercely, holding her tight. "You have given me so much, you continue to give me more than I ever would have dared to ask of you," she whispered soothingly, hand stroking down her back. "You are the only one I want to rule beside me. I know that despite your birth you will put Brigid before yourself, and you will do right by her," she continued to soothe.

"I j-- I just want to do right by you," Dorothea mewled shakily, holding her one-handed and sniffling into her shirt. Petra held her stoically.

"As I do for you, my darling," she said softly, pulling her face up to look at her, wiping away her tears anew. "My little thunderbolt," she said with a gentle smile. This made Dorothea give a noisy scoff of embarrassment, hand filled with static electricity making Petra squeak as Dorothea gave her a playful shove.

"Flatterer," teased Dorothea, smile creeping onto her face as Petra looked at her with an adorably affronted look on her face.

Without much fanfare at all, they kissed once more, framed by the setting sun, the sound of waves the only sound as they held each other close, gloriously alone and anonymous on some lonely stretch of beach together.

They stood, forehead to forehead then, Petra whispering to her.

"I'll show you every beach," she swore, "show you how to sail, how to canoe, show you the jungles and the mountains," she whispered like a secret.

"I'll give you all I and my land know to give, I will teach every spirit to love you if only you'll stay and be happy with me, Dorothea," she whispered softly, desperately, holding her in vicegrip.

"Don't be silly, Petra," she sighed, nuzzling into her neck. "There's nowhere I'd rather be," she promised softly, making Petra sigh in turn, grip loosening appreciably.

"Y'wanna go home?" Asked Dorothea softly. "Sun's setting."

Petra nodded into her shoulder. "Okay then," said Dorothea, kissing her forehead. "Lead the way."

They broke apart, hands still held, but made no effort to move.

"Want to watch the ocean for a bit longer first?" Asked Petra gently. No answer was needed.

Unprompted, the both of them found themselves walking up to the surf, sitting on the beach and taking off their sandals as they let it lap against them as the tide slowly rolled in, sun falling deeper and deeper into the ocean's grasp.

Before long, it was time to go by mutual agreement that the tide was climbing too high up. They stood, drying off their feet and cleaning them with the cloth that held the jewelry box, before putting on their sandals and beginning their walk back in earnest.

The city was growing sleepier, now. There was no longer a frantic bustle like earlier, merely the warm light of lamps calling them both here and there.

Though, to be honest, the both of them felt like they were precisely where they wanted to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm. Not as happy with this one as I could have been, but regardless I hope you all enjoy it. As mentioned before, we have a discord! Why not come and have some fun with friendly folks who like lesbians a bunch? discord.gg/KKk8jn5 
> 
> As ever, comments and kudos are very much appreciated.
> 
> Stay safe out there, everyone! I'll do my best to keep providing you some small distraction as time goes on.


	11. A Kinder Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A kinder day in Asha's life.

Asha's head hurt, and so did her hand.

It was mid-day, and Asha had been working with her tutors since near-dawn, as had become routine. It was a dizzying blur of political history, manners, swordplay and traditional educational topics she hadn't touched since Father died.

It was difficult, sometimes, but her tutors were understanding.

"Now: knowing what you know about Faerghus under King Ilya, why would he attempt an incursion into Alliance grounds?" her tutor, a handsome young man named Chi inquired.

She was silent for a time, rolling the words around in her mouth before she spoke. "Because the winter was harsh," she began uncertainly. "The winters are always harsh, and if it gets bad enough, older Faerghans may take extreme measures to ensure there is enough food for their family, even walking into the woods to freeze to make one less mouth to feed," she continued, referring to her notes as she spoke.

"So, a number of villages probably had their older men and women form a militia to try to take ground for Faerghus and their people instead of dying in the woods. King Ilya had no say in the matter, he was a peaceful king who abhorred violence. He would never start such a frivolous conflict in the middle of a bad winter," She finished, proud of herself for saying it all without stuttering as her diction coach had been teaching her.

Chi nodded approvingly, giving her a smile that made her blush. "Very good, Asha. Faerghus is known for its independent nature, but this is hardly an isolated occurrence; never underestimate the will of the people to make decisions even without their liege-lord's consent," he said in his soft voice.

She liked political history, and she definitely liked Chi. He was so pretty, and nice... she gave a dreamy sigh as she nodded, watching his long fingers sift through his notes for their next topic.

"Now, if you were King Ilya and you were confronted by an Alliance scout demanding an explanation, what would you do?" He asked, eyes glimmering with curiosity.

"U-um, that is... I would start by getting a full grasp of the situation, inquire if the troops were still present, and then think of reparations," she said clearly, hoping she was on the right track.

Chi nodded, face betraying nothing. "Certainly a valid response," he said gently, "but why not keep the land? It's already done, after all," asked Chi, in the way she'd come to link with him trying to trap her to teach a lesson. But she'd come to learn his tricks, and what he was actually trying to teach her.

"No," she said with a firm shake of her head. "It has been a harsh winter. Everyone is tired and hungry. While the Alliance wouldn't be foolish enough to invade Faerghus in the winter, they will come with greater numbers come the spring and take the land we can't protect easily and then some. Starting a border conflict over a spit of land likely without strategic value after a hard winter could only end badly for me if I was Ilya."

Chi rewarded her with one of his heart-stopping smiles. "A strong stance Asha, and a good argument. Good. It is important for a leader to think of the long-term, and to value the people before all else. This often means going against what the people want in the short-term. It is the duty of a monarch to make the hard choices and to stand by them," he lectured, Asha busily writing down the points of the anecdote in her notebook. Chi was so smart, she was so lucky to have him, even if he did make her heart stutter like it was nothing.

It was so strange, she'd never felt like this around anyone before...

With a soft clap of his hands, Chi spoke up: "Well, it's two hours past mid-day, my lady, so I fear that's our time. I will see you in three days as ever, alright?" He said with his charming smile, giving her hair an affectionate ruffle that left her bright red.

"O-okay, Chi... thank you for the lesson," she squeaked, bowing to him as he picked up his supplies and he made his way out of the room.

She sat quietly in the room, notes carefully squared off and ready to be carried as soon as Zegana came to fetch her. And, of course, she did. She nodded to the nearly-mute maid she'd come to know as her primary minder, standing to follow her as she led her through the palace.

Even after a few months it still felt labyrinthine to her. She didn't get lost anymore, but she could still lose her way if she wasn't careful.

It was with some surprise then that she was brought out behind the palace, Dorothea seated in a chair and giving her a cheery wave as a throng of children played in the grass and trees, overseen by a small army of minders.

"Hi, Asha," Dorothea offered cheerily, Zegana bowing and disappearing as she was wont to do.

"What's all this?" asked Asha, confused.

"Well, remember when we said we'd start a playgroup for you? Here it is!" Said Dorothea happily, gesturing towards the children at play. "Some other noble children for you to play and have fun with," she clarified. "It helps to have the young ones forge bonds when they're young, too..." Dorothea trailed off with a meaningful wink at Asha, whose mouth made an "o" of understanding as she nodded.

"But the first priority is that you have fun, okay sunshine?" She said softly, delicate hand at Asha's back. "We want you to have friends your own age that you can bond with."

Asha looked on at the giggling children, playing much like the alley rats she knew on the streets. Could it really be so simple?

She stared down at her feet, much too comfortable in Dorothea's grasp to leave quite yet.

She hadn't been born to this as they all had. She would make a faux-pas, they would mock her, she knew. Children always did. She wasn't sure if she was ready for this. She was representing the Jadeheart in this...

She was shaken from her thoughts by Dorothea's gentle voice. "I see the wheels turning in your head, dear, stop it. That is not what this is. These are children, their only purpose for being here is to play and have fun. We have snacks, even." She reassured, green eyes soft, making her blush. Not even Chi was as pretty as Dorothea, she had to admit. But Chi felt different all the same.

And she'd yet to meet anyone who could read her as reliably. She looked down and away, chagrined at being so obvious. "It's hard to turn off," she admitted ruefully.

"I know, dear. But that's why we set this up, to give you at least a bit of time when you don't need to live in that space. Do your best to let it go and have fun, alright? No one is allowed to know the other's family names, to them you're just another playmate," she reassured, giving her a gentle push.

Taking the hint, Asha walked towards the group shyly, offering a nervous wave when some of the children noticed her presence. "H-hello," she called softly. "Can I play?"

"Only if you come be a princess in my kingdom!" Cried one of the girls, with long jet black hair and three beads delicately joined together to the side of her part.

"Okay!" assented Asha, rushing up to join the girl at her side.

\---

It was good to see Asha having fun with the children, mused Dorothea. She did not have much time left before womanhood was sprung on her and things changed once more.

It took longer than she thought it would to collect enough nobles and children of suitable pedigree, but she'd managed it. The nobility was fairly small in scale overall, one island having perhaps five houses without need for lesser barons or counts or marquesses like the mainland would require. So, merchants' children, well-to-do families. 

The important part was she had a dozen rambunctious children being children playing in the rear gardens of the palace as she and the childrens' other minders watched on, numerous mothers and nursemaids keeping an eagle eye as they played.

It was something she was never sure she'd have the chance to see.

She was so lucky it left her dizzy.

Here she sat, watching her sweet daughter who was so kind, so smart, so hardworking having fun and bonding with other children as Dorothea never had, her future shining brighter than even hers, she who had married into royalty.

It was so perfect that the spy in her was screaming there had to be a trap in the making. And she searched for it, too. Pages and pages of dossiers, casual interviews, personally working to spread the Brigid spy network wider to smell whatever dared to break their happiness.

She worked tirelessly to ensure that Asha's greatest worry would be to finish her homework on time and if that boy or girl she fancied liked her in turn, like it should be.

And so did Petra, having started the punishing work of modernizing Brigid's bureaucracy, preparing the nation for her rise to power.

Asha was the reason they worked, now, beyond Brigid's own prosperity. They needed to make a world worthy of her.

She sighed dreamily, lost in thought, spy papers deftly returned to their case as she sat in the Brigid sun.

"Which one is yours?" Asked a woman beside her, dark purple hair gleaming in the sun as she smiled down at her.

"Ah," squeaked Dorothea, unprepared. One of the mothers was speaking to her! She quickly pointed Asha out, playing with the jet-haired girl still. "Asha," she supplied.

"Hmm, she doesn't have much of your coloring, does she?" The woman teased gently.

"She is my daughter all the same," she said with a happiness that radiated through her body. She'd never gotten to say it to anyone before and it felt so good to let out.

"That one's mine," the woman said, pointing to the girl Asha played with. "Kira."

"She's beautiful," Dorothea praised. "Your husband must be very handsome to give her such lovely hair."

The woman gave a fond snort. "Before I started cooking for him, maybe," she said with an air of fond ruefulness that suggested she found him handsome now as ever. "I prefer him at home than out on the water, though, even if he's gained a belly from it."

"We all want our loved ones to be safe," Dorothea agreed. "It is so nice to see them play. I worry that Asha's studies are stealing her childhood from her," she admitted candidly despite herself. 

The woman gave a low hum of agreement. "Part of why I was so quick to agree to this. Little Kira knows more about fishing and trade than anyone should have to at her age. Children should get to be children, even with the demands we place so heavily on their shoulders."

Dorothea nodded her agreement. "I'm Dorothea," she offered diplomatically.

"Nia," the woman responded. "So you're the one who's been lighting the social columns aflame," she said with a lilting tease to her voice. "And the one who set all this up. Pleasure to meet you, my lady," she said with a polite half-bow which Dorothea was quick to wave off.

"Please, I'm nothing yet, we haven't even wed," she said a bit embarrassed, scratching at her cheek nervously. "You can just call me Dorothea."

Nia gave a soft laugh, looking back at the children. "Fine by me," she acceded politely.

They sat in silence, watching the children play some sort of game of dragonslaying and heroism, Asha saving Kira, Kira saving a boy who made a very convincing swooning damsel and so forth. It was lovely to see.

"I used to be in the opera, and I don't think I've seen an actor put half as much effort into a performance as these little ones," she said, smile tingeing her voice. Nia said nothing, simply looking on peacefully.

This was lovely, it truly was. The sun shone beautifully, the children laughed and played in a safe space, and she was enjoying some light conversation and doing some less-important work on the side. By Dorothea's standards this was practically a vacation, nothing like the deep cover infiltrations Hubert sometimes had her do, constantly fearing for her cover and her life, sending missives at countless dead drops.

She shook herself out of her train of thought before it got out of hand. Those times were gone. She needed to be here. 

She watched the children, the sunshine a bit colder, the shadows of the trees beyond just a bit more dangerous in what they could be hiding. Casually, she walked around the playing area, static crackling across her casting hand despite herself. She was being silly, there was nothing there. This was just her indulging her instincts.

She weaved through the trees. No signs of anyone hiding in the bushes. No one in the branches. No traps, no latent magic in the air. Nothing.

Despite that, she was not put any more at ease, her mind insisting something had to be awry, that this was too good, things were going too well.

She sat down against one of the trees, practicing her old focusing exercises Manuela had taught her back at the opera. 

She was getting a bit shaky, in such an open space, so many precious assets in plain view.

She'd been doing so well. She smiled grimly. Well, it may not be fun, but at least it kept them safe.

She sat quietly, listening to the sounds of the forest behind her, only half-seeing the children at play.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! Some more for you, I hope you enjoyed. If you'd like to come say hi, we have a discord! discord.gg/KKk8jn5 Comments and kudos are, as ever, appreciated.


	12. Inkblots and Ruminations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The tattooing begins, and a spirit wanders.

When Kin came back to continue work on the tattoo with a velveteen bag full of beads, Dorothea was not surprised, but she was incredibly flattered all the same.

She had accepted the beads with all the decorum she knew to give, which Kin accepted with her usual surly politeness.

She was almost sad the tattoo was nearly finished. Kin was in every way a master of her craft, and the technical drawings she had provided left no doubt that this would be a wonderful tattoo, one that signified her love and devotion as well as her tentative bond with Brigid's spirits. When she'd tentatively looked into the bag to gaze at her beads, she was similarly impressed by the delicate craftsmanship on display in each bead.

She was surprised, however, when Kin spoke up suddenly. "I'm told the wedding preparations are nearly complete," Kin noted, breaking Dorothea from her reverie, looking over the beads that catalogued her life.

"Mm? Oh, yes. Well, they're for most intents and purposes finished, just these last touches, like the work we've been doing. The standard things have been finished for nearly a month," Dorothea supplied.

"So all that would be left is to give you and the Jadeheart your tattoos, then," she noted mildly. For some reason the thought made her blush.

"Yes. How long, to complete such technical tattoos?" Dorothea asked cautiously. Kin hummed.

"Assuming Faith magic is at play to help heal between sessions, perhaps a week per tattoo if you came in each day for a few hours, so between you both, perhaps two weeks."

Dorothea gripped her chin in thought. "I should tell Rakka, then. It's time..." she murmured almost worriedly. "All that's left is to invite the guests."

Kin said nothing more on the topic, simply remeasuring her arm as she finalized the last few details, focusing on each individual digit of her hand. When their meeting came to an end, she gave a gentle smile and a nod as she wished her a good day, and that her parlor would be open to her.

Dorothea left the room in a daze, struck by the enormity of the fact that it was all really happening. She was going to be married soon. She had Brigid beads in her hand, and she would have Brigid ink on her skin. She was blindsided when Rakka, resplendent as ever in her robes, white hair tied back sternly spoke to her.

"Dorothea," she began firmly, shaking her from her reverie.

"Mm? Oh, I'm sorry Rakka, yes? What is it?" She asked, embarrassed to have been caught flat-footed.

"Two matters; first, what has Kin said about the tattoo?" She asked bluntly.

"That they were ready to begin work, and it would take a week for me and a week for Petra to finish our sleeves," she answered simply. Rakka, she had come to learn, liked things quick and concise, which she could respect. As much as Dorothea loved poetry and stories, the language of spycraft was blunt and often coded; the simpler the better to ensure the message could be memorized and disposed of quickly.

Rakka nodded. "Good. You can start work on your tattoo tomorrow then. I'll arrange it," she said simply.

"What? Rakka, we still need to contact the guest list, don't we?" She asked, confused.

"I handled that two months ago. I set the date, with instructions that if anything changed they would be contacted, and you matched my projections perfectly," she said, a surprisingly gentle smile on her face.

"It seems you're to be wed in two weeks' time, Miss Arnault," she said with a gentle squeeze of her shoulder.

"And you didn't tell me?" She asked incredulously, wide smile on her face. "Oh, you fox!" she accused without teeth.

"The final pieces have already been sorted. It will be a good day," she stated softly.

Dorothea stewed on that thought for a moment, before coming back to herself. "You had a second issue?"

Rakka nodded, her face growing stern. "Yes, and regrettably more serious. There is a spy amongst us, and I need you to ferret them out," she began, walking them further down the hall away from any doors. Dorothea's face shuttered, eyes going flat.

"What do we know?" She asked, mind already running through likely suspects.

"Mercifully we nipped it before it started, someone simply stole one of the honeypots, but it seems they were able to manage it without getting caught; they're good, but stupid. Nothing is at risk, but they're a skilled operative. We can't have them about, particularly now."

"You've looked over new hires, delivery personnel and so forth?" she inquired, mind racing.

"Yes, but unfortunately it's a lot of ground to cover; it was on a day when we received multiple deliveries and it wasn't discovered until the end of the day, so it may well have been a smokescreen to make it seem like it was an outsider. At least, preliminary explorations revealed nothing," she answered, hands clasped tightly behind her back.

"You're skilled with human intelligence; I've got my people working, but I want you to put your skills to use. Understood?" She asked, staring straight ahead, not meeting her eyes.

"Of course, Grandmother. I will get to work on that," she promised.

"Thank you, granddaughter," she said, finally turning to her with a crinkled smile. "Do what you can. I know you will be busy with your inks in the coming days," she soothed, for which Dorothea was grateful. She still had to remind herself this wasn't Hubert, and she wasn't hunting Slitherers anymore. The stakes were not the same.

She nodded mutely, watching Rakka walk off, as was her way.

She sighed, straightening the imaginary wrinkles in her outfit. She had work to do, it would seem.

* * *

The inks, she was surprised to note, weren't as excruciating as she'd feared. Kin was an expert with her curious needle-brushes, dipping them delicately into her inks and effortlessly piercing her skin as she sat relaxed in the reclining chair in Kin's parlor.

"Your skin takes the ink well," praised Kin. "It is striking against your natural paleness. The Jadeheart will be bowled over," she promised as she pierced three times in rapid succession. It hurt, but at the same time it was vaguely invigorating.

She was really doing it. She was going to tattoo her love for Petra for all to see. It was such a strange thought. She turned over to Xantcha's statue, who had been brought downstairs to witness the event.

"What do you think, Xantcha? Do you think Petra will like it?" She asked, smiling softly at the strange little statue. Its eyes filled with light in an approximation of a blink, its meaning somehow clear to her. Her smile deepened.

"You're too kind, sweetling. I hope you're right," she said, as Kin busied herself with slowly marking all of the outlines, having made it all the way to her elbow. She didn't know how much time had passed, but it truly wasn't so bad. Kin and Xantcha were not chatty, but they were good company, with soothing auras.

Kin's obvious confidence and deft skill put her at ease, and Xantcha simply emitted an unnamable sense of ease as it watched them at work.

It was so strange to see the tattoo she'd spent nigh-on a month finalizing with Kin slowly come into being right there on her skin. It almost felt like the ink wasn't on the needles, but inside of her, being released with each stroke of Kin's brush.

As if it were some sort of emotional bloodletting. She could see why some grew addicted to the art of tattoo.

"So what brought you down the artist's path, Kin?" She asked idly, as Kin continued prick-pricking away.

"Natural acumen, mostly. As a child I would comb the beach, make necklaces from seashells. As I grew older, they grew finer, and one day my mentor asked to buy one and the rest is history, really," she said simply. "It suited me better than pearl-diving or fishing at least."

Dorothea gave a soft hum of acknowledgment. "I could see you diving. Do tattoo artists ever make normal jewelry?" she inquired curiously.

Kin made a noncommittal noise. "If they want to, but if they do it's a hobby and nothing more. Our materials are holy, and we are well-compensated by the crown and our patrons."

Dorothea gave that some thought. "Well, that may change, in the coming years. Brigid jewelry is liable to becoming a desirable commodity sometime soon," she mused.

"Oh, I'm aware. It's a matter of protecting the sanctity of our skills. Our arts are for speaking to spirits and chronicling the lives of our people, not for pleasing foreigners or impressing one's peers at a gala with how rare and exotic their necklace is." Dorothea frowned. She hadn't thought of it that way.

"That's a good point. The line between sharing culture and commodifying and cheapening it is a slim one, isn't it?"

"It is," Kin agreed, pricking her with a thicker brush, full of what looked like a dozen pins to do a larger spot in one strike. When the blow struck her, she could not deny that she hissed in pain.

"Apologies. I fear if I did points like this entirely by one point we would be here for three weeks or more," Kin stated, not sounding terrifically apologetic. Dorothea waved her off.

"I trust you to do what's best, Kin, I am your canvas," she said, arm singing with a thousand pinholes, hot and tingling.

She was beginning to get delirious, sweat dotting her forehead, hair sticking to her face. Kin noticed, and was quickly on her with a soft towelette, wiping it away.

"We're nearly done for the day. I'm just finishing this design and then we'll heal you up and send you on your way, alright?" Kin murmured, voice a soothing rumble.

"'kay," she murmured, lying back and closing her eyes. The world was too sharp, too bright. Her heart was beating for what seemed like no reason, fingers itching to do something. It was a very unusual feeling.

It was with a final wipe of her now-bloody-and-ink-stained cloth over the new pierces that Kin cast a gentle healing spell on her, handing her a delicate white sleeve to attach to the sleeveless shirt she'd been told to wear to keep the work a secret. None were to see it until the big day. With an exhausted goodbye, Dorothea made her way home, barely managing to keep track of herself through dinner, collapsing into bed without another thought.

* * *

Xantcha, as he did, observed as the new human was marked. Do-ro-the-ah was an interesting human, and he had been fascinated by her ever since they had met. Few addressed him directly, even getting his name right, and her tale was harrowing; she was the only one, other than the Jadeheart who corroborated the death of another of the Moon Children. None of the spirits knew how many of their cousins remained. Until the Jadeheart returned from the war they had no idea any remained at all.

Suffice to say, the spirits had been raucous and unmanageable at the news, and Xantcha was rarely happier to live in his idol.

He stared at Dorothea, who had begun wearing a few of the beads highlighting some accomplishments. The Immaculate One's death. That she was due to be married. Her time contributing to the arts. That she had become a mother. Despite her appearance, she was not as showy as he had imagined she would be. She did not even wear them in a Brigid braid, for reasons unclear to him.

Nearly a hundred beads Xantcha had helped Kin authorize and bless, and she'd managed to be very restrained in her choices. If she wished she could be one of the most decorated military figures alive on the island.

Though, the Immaculate Bead alone went quite a ways in proving that already. It and the Jadeheart's twin were some of the most striking beads ever made and blessed by the spirits, and for good reason.

The spirits were curious regarding her, and had him observing her closely, even flitting from his idol in the night to watch over her as she worked. Even still smelling of blood and ink she would speak to a huge number of other humans for reasons Xantcha didn't understand.

The wife of the last Shark to be Jadeheart spoke to her in hushed tones, explaining the manhunt underway to find the spy in their midst.

Oh yes, Do-ro-the-ah was a spy as well. She was speaking to the other human to find who the spy was. If Xantcha could, he'd have sighed.

Humans were very confusing. So similar and yet so different. Their forms often revealed nothing of the types of people they truly were, unlike spirits. A spirit skilled in stealth and trickery was obvious in their skill, just as a warrior made no secret of their specialization. It was impossible to hide for them, their each trait an open book.

Even he, little Xantcha, barely a century old and hardly more defined at all wore his truth openly. His eyes were wide open, his mouth gaping in surprise because everything was new, and novel to him. He was small because he was young, he had a tail because he was fast and liked to play. It was all there to see.

Perhaps he felt a kinship with the woman because she, too, was in a new and exciting world. Brigid, it seemed, was very different from her old home. Yet she got on swimmingly, and refused to give up. He agreed with Kin's assessment of her; the tattoo of her on the Jadeheart's arm would be fitting.

He watched over her while she slept, arm smelling sweet from the salve Kin had given her to ensure the skin healed without blemish. The winds around her still smelled of nerves; she was afraid of the spy. She wanted to find them before the wedding, Xantcha could sense it.

Once it was the Jadeheart's turn to be marked, Xantcha would be disappointed; he didn't doubt she would tear the palace apart to find the one to blame. Even from their few meetings Xantcha could smell how the Shark's bride was committed to the same cause. In his tattoo of her he had tasted her iron will, and her love of her family. She would not suffer a single threat.

He flew then to their little one; the one the spirits hardly knew, still. She was so small in her bed, as all humans began. She still smelled of smoke and fire, the one that burned away her blessings and left her beyond their sight until Do-ro-the-ah had found her again. For that alone the spirits owed her a boon. To lose such a special little one, as the spirits remembered her to be, would have been a tragedy.

With a gentle exertion of his meager power, Xantcha willed the smell of smoke and fire away. He hoped she would rest more peacefully for the small service. The spirits had much to repay her. He hoped she would come to he and Kin, when the time came. She was full of potential. Her inks would be magnificent when she was of age, that he could already see.

He flitted between the rooms of the couple and their child, before slowly allowing the breeze to bring him back home to his idol. He needed rest, same as any other creature.

All the same, when he nestled inside of his wooden self, thoughts of those three stayed with him. He knew they would be some of the most important people he would ever get to observe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's another for you all, thank you as ever for reading my friends. If you'd like to come say hi, we have a little discord! discord.gg/KKk8jn5 
> 
> Hopefully I can inject a bit of drama without either jumping the shark or ruining all expectations, hoho.
> 
> Before anyone asks, the smell of fire in Xantcha's portion is metaphorical; it haunts Asha as a ghost might, and the spirits can sense and impact these things. If a spirit were displeased with you similarly they could bother you in all manner of ways. I'm not saying all depression is caused by spirits but I will say some depressions have been caused by spirits for example.


	13. Wedding Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Petra and Dorothea both prepare the final touches for the wedding, whatever that means.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost to the wedding! Are you all excited? I sure am! If you'd like to talk with me or like-minded connoisseurs of fic, come join us at discord.gg/KKk8jn5 !

It had been quite a long time since she'd bled quite so much, Petra found herself observing. The tattooing was going as planned, matching the timeframe perfectly. It was simply more blood than she thought there would be. She had never undertaken a tattooing half so large or intricate; merely some bands of adulthood and her forest spirit's mark.

It was nerve-wracking, for reasons beyond being pierced by needles again and again. She was to be married in less than a week. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. She wanted to see Dorothea's tattoo so badly. They had not seen much of each other between the tattooing sessions and the task Grandmother had put her on, only had the chance to gaze at the delicate white silk hiding her arm from view. A veil to ensure she would be the first to see it.

Traditionally, she would be cloistered to preserve her modesty until the day came, but trying to stop Dorothea from doing what she considered her duty was a fool's errand at the best of times.

She seemed particularly devoted lately, as well. Whatever she was taking care of was keeping her occupied.

"So did all go well with Dorothea's tattoo, Kin?" asked Petra, doing her best to lounge and put her arm out of her mind as the woman worked.

"There were no issues; she and Xantcha get along famously. For her delicate appearance she has a respectable constitution," Kin explained in her blunt, concise way.

Petra smiled at this. "We both served under the Professor. We were all pushed to our limits in those days. Even if she never battles again, she can outstrip most anyone alive," she bragged despite herself. Dorothea was strong, so strong. Harmless to her friends, lethal to her enemies. She'd be lying if she said the sight of her breathless and wreathed in lightning, her enemies laid low around her didn't awaken an animal hunger in the pit of her stomach.

She was someone who could protect her as she protected them. A person who could combine with her to create something greater than its constituent parts. Her queen.

"So," she drawled, turning to stare at the idol of Xantcha. "You and my wife-to-be are friends, are you? Do you enjoy her company, little ghost?" She asked gently, no hint of contempt in her words, only fondness.

His idol's eyes gleamed, a puff of smoke expelling itself from its mouth. Petra laughed. "Yes, she's energetic, it's true," she acceded. "Don't worry, she isn't always so energetic though," she assured. Xantcha expelled another puff of smoke.

Petra smiled, lapsing into comfortable silence as Kin kept to her delicate work.

She felt a strange kinship with everyone in this room. Just a few days ago, they had been doing just the same with Dorothea. Because they were all preparing for the same wedding.

"Will Xantcha attend the wedding?" she inquired, a bit nervously. The wonts of spirits were unpredictable, and she didn't want to offend.

"Yes. It will be a momentous event. While other spirits will be meeting you for the handfasting, Xantcha will observe throughout," Kin stated before a particularly sharp poke made her face twitch. "I would not be surprised if every spirit on this island and some of the strongest from the other come to say hello," she commented mildly.

Petra hummed. It was a strange thought, to know the spirits were interested in her, were interested in how her life developed. "Not many can claim to have spirits come to their wedding. Is there anything they enjoy, to your knowledge? I'd hate for use to be poor hostesses to our esteemed guests," she said, only half-joking.

"Depends on the spirit," Kin stated noncommittally. "Having a bit of each element in easy reach would be received well, however. Candles, loose earth, a water fixture, so on. If any wish for more, they can sort it themselves.

"Dorothea mentioned plans for such, so I wouldn't worry too much. From what she's described she's planned it all to the last detail," she spoke, voice a pleasant counterpoint to the arrhythmic pricking.

"Of course she would," agreed Petra. Foolish of her to think Dorothea would leave anything unaccounted for. 

It came as a legitimate surprise when Kin stood, putting her pin-brush away. "It's done, Jadeheart."

She blinked, disbelieving. "Goodness," she murmured. "Time flies, I suppose," she said almost giddily.

It was time.

* * *

Dorothea had not expected Nia, of all people, to be the lynchpin that helped her catch the spy. Rakka's spies at the docks and elsewhere had already begun the work of setting a trap, "rebels" interested in information that would be damaging to the Jadeheart's authority, but Nia was the one who had gotten them where they needed to be.

The spy had obviously been paranoid of a honeypot, and hadn't been biting, but Nia and her husband were one of the powers of the city's dock district, and like it or not that meant having connections to organized crime. Part of the reason they had been allowed to attend Asha's play-date was because the Palace could break them if needed. But, of course, they wouldn't; their relationship was mutually beneficial. They got tips on properly black market affairs, and they kept the gray market civil. In return, the Palace turned a blind eye.

What this spy was not, however, was organized; no support structure, no one to miss them if they disappeared. A simple introduction of their agent mediated by Nia and they were all too desperate to shove their fake information into their hands and be done with it. An old scarred woman, effortlessly tranquilized and waiting for her below-ground. Rakka gave her the only key into the room, expecting her to get the full story.

Nervously, Dorothea tugged at her white sleeve, arm still sore. This had always been Hubert's specialty.

Not that he enjoyed it. She'd shared more than a few bottles of wine to help the poor man come to terms with what he was doing and why.

Hubert was the torturer among them; many would say it was to be expected, but to say he savored it could not be further from the truth. He did it so no one else had to. He had never been good about showing his love for the Eagles, but they all knew he did. He showed it by being the monster none of them wanted to be for them.

But just because he had been the expert didn't mean lightning couldn't get the answers she wanted, though.

There were only two guards, down in the dungeon. The palace was not a prison, and they did not store dangerous individuals here longer than necessary.

Though she hadn't seen the spy yet, she'd been told to prepare to be disappointed. All the better. She didn't want to be unearthing a coup attempt before her wedding.

The door creaked open on intentionally rusty hinges. No opening it quietly.

She stood resplendent in her red and gold outfit, sleeveless with a jangling skirt line with hollow beads along the edge which clacked with her steps, pristine white sleeve overtop.

It was an older woman seated before her, bound tightly. Salt and pepper hair in a pony tail, sleeveless docker's shirt, pants, tattoos marking her bulging arms and her thick neck.

The classic docker. But how did she end up as a spy..?

"You know why I'm here," she said softly, dazedly. "I'm here to decide whether you live or die," she said softly, leaning forward to stare into her exhausted eyes. "Perhaps you are merely an opportunistic fool, and all of this is a misunderstanding. Perhaps you are a traitor to the Islands, and you are scum that needs to be wiped away."

She pulled back, eyes sharpening as she stared down at the woman looking up at her silently. "I get to decide what's true in this room. You would do well to respect that power, if you wish to keep your head."

The woman stared, stone-faced and said nothing. Dorothea smiled. "Good, you are not so green as to break that simply. That can mean quite a few things. Perhaps you can elucidate what those reasons might be, miss..?"

"Kourva."

Dorothea made a noise of understanding.

"How does a woman like you, a docker, end up holding onto state secrets, I wonder?" she begins, starting with a soft question.

"Got lost. Found some papers. Took 'em," said Kourva sternly, voice raspy from disuse. Dorothea hummed in turn.

"So, you got lost in the palace. Reasonable enough, dockers often do deliveries. But why would you take our papers, Kourva? You had to know there would be consequences," she questioned, intentionally leaving out the obvious issues with her story.

"You don't spend time on the docks without figuring out what's valuable. Sometimes that little rock you pinch can keep you fed for a month," she stated bluntly. "And this includes national intelligence. You must have some interesting teachers, Kourva. Care to tell me about them?" she asked, eyes lidded and dangerous.

She makes a facsimile of a shrug despite her bound arms. "It's the docks. You get a nose for it. Light fingers too," she answers.

Dorothea steps forward, a gentle hand on Kourva's shoulder followed by the agonized groan of a low-power lightning spell coursing through someone's veins. She releases her shoulder, giving it a gentle pat.

"That's not what I asked, Kourva. Who taught you?"

She hissed under her breath, hate in her eyes now. "The docks taught me," she spat venomously.

"The docks don't teach people to steal those papers without leaving a single trace of your presence. You're telling me the _docks_ taught you how to dodge multiple types of theft protection?" Dorothea questioned, making her contemptuous doubt evident in each word.

"How did I end up finding a nobody docker, a complete unknown who knows how to skip past that kind of security, huh? You come in like a phantom, and then you get caught in a basic sting? Are you a genius or a moron, Kourva?" She asked, raising her voice, hand against Kourva's cheek, sparking blue-bright with static. "Whoever you're worried about getting at you, I promise I can do much worse here and now."

Kourva looked at the sparking hand, a drop of actual fear appearing in her eyes at last. So she was afraid of the anticipation... good to know.

"Scared your master will kill you if you tell me about them? I'll kill you right now if you don't. I'll make it last a long time. I have a wedding to get to, and I don't intend to pause my honeymoon to deal with some half-trained docker," she hissed with legitimate venom. It was true. She didn't want to deal with any of this. She wanted them to talk so she could kick them off the island or slit her throat, depending.

"So you can tell me what you know, get on a boat and hide somewhere else, or you can make this cell your grave."

After a long silence, Kourva spoke up, staring at her knees.

"I don't know their name. They never told anyone. We just called him gray-hair. He taught me some tricks, had me do a few jobs, give him intel when I found any. Dunno who he was, who he worked for, but he paid well, she finally sighed out. "He disappeared when the war ended. Dunno where he is now. Adrestia, probably. Looked Adrestian.

"And the papers? Were you really so stupid as to think we wouldn't look for you?" she pushed. Kourva shook her head.

"I never ate better than when I worked with gray-hair. Stuff that well secured, it's... valuable. Saw how tight it was and figured I could find a buyer for it, whatever it was. When gray-hair gave me jobs he always made the problems disappear after. Didn't think he was actually doing that much. Wanted a taste of the good life again."

Dorothea scoffed. She could smell the sincerity coming off of her. Great. Just a stupid puppet run off its strings. A strange master, name a secret. Not a standard crim, then. No one who wanted to get known in the underworld didn't have a name. An actual spy, and she was fairly certain she knew for who. She sighed.

"Anything else you want to say, Kourva?" she asked, resigned.

"Jus' lemme leave in one piece, eh? I'm not dangerous. I'm just a hungry nobody. Swear I'll never touch the Palace or anything else never again," she all but begged, eyes wide and sincere.

She sighed, another little part of her dying. "I know you won't, Kourva." For Asha's sake she'd make sure of it.

In a single deft move, she pulled the knife she hid in her wedding sleeve out, slitting Kourva's throat in a dancer's twirl. She did not watch as they bled out, simply reaching for her kerchief and cleaning her knife off, sliding it back into place. She opened the door on its creaky hinges, and left Kourva to die.

No half-measures. If she had links to the Slitherers, however minor, she would not suffer their presence here.

"They're dead. There are no other spies. Clean it up," she ordered the guards in monotone. She went up the stairs, feeling as if she'd fallen a little further into the darkness.

But all the same: it was time.


	14. Delegation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Adrestian delegation arrives; things gear up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all! Here we go, things are going to get into full happy schmoop swing right about now! I'm going to try and make an effort to offer longer chapters than usual for this upcoming duration, so I hope I can count on your understanding since this is the big finish we're rubbing up against. Thank you for staying with me this far!

It seemed the entire island was officially falling into swing in preparation for the wedding, if Petra's briefing was to be believed.

Rakka had quite a bit of fun teasing her granddaughter about the commemorative souvenirs being sold, the preparations to celebrate in the streets and how readily the people seemed to be taking to the idea of the Jadeheart and her foreign bride. It was... heartwarming, she had to admit.

She hadn't dared to hope it would be well-received, by anyone on the islands really. Queens did not marry for love, and it would not be an overstatement to describe her decision to do so as a dereliction of duty, even if she had unintentionally snagged a replacement for Rakka.

She'd had fun teasing her about retiring when they came back from their honeymoon, too, which she couldn't begrudge her; the woman was aged, and had already stayed on well past when none would have objected her leaving for her sake. She still needed to find a way to thank her Baba for all of the hard work she had undertaken, for herself and for the Jadehearts before her.

Idly, she stroked her father's idol. He would of course have a place of honor when they were bound.

She still hadn't seen the venue, or knew much about the guest-list; that had been left in Dorothea and Rakka's hands, and frankly she was thankful for it. She had no flair for beauty like Dorothea, nor the decades of experience wrangling complex events like Rakka. Not to mention that she was constantly up to her neck with work. If she had been the one to prepare everything, they'd be lucky if they were wed next year around this time.

Altogether, though, she knew Rakka was having fun teasing her.

"By the by, Jadeheart," Rakka began, pacing back and for before her throne. "The Emperor and her retinue are due to be arriving sometime around sunset," she said, eyes crinkling with amusement at the way she knew her face lit up at the declaration.

"Emperor Edelgard is attending? Truly?" She asked, failing to hide her enthusiasm to have her old leader back with her. "And retinue? Do we know who they all are?" she asked eagerly.

"Of course, Jadeheart," she teased, giving a predatory smile. "But there is no need to fear, their lodgings have been prepared. I'll leave you to wonder who precisely when they arrive later today," she said coyly.

Petra only barely bit back a groan. "You're having too much fun with this, Grandmother. Fine, have it your way. Tell me I don't have any asinine meetings in recompense." she managed poutily.

Rakka laughed, a singular noise more akin to a shout than anything. "Hah, no. You're meeting the leader of the merchants' union to discuss preferential tariffs on if any of the visitors want to buy something." She said bluntly, making Petra rest her face in her palms.

"Spirits, why do you do this to me? Give me great news and then force me to slog through mercantile hell to get to it? You're a cruel old woman, Rakka," she moaned, only half-serious.

"I'd say I'm sorry, but you know I don't care," Rakka said, walking off with a wave as a maid came to fetch her for appointment.

Oh, spirits. There were no more appointments. Was she really meeting for a multi-hour appointment with the merchants union? It seemed so. Likely, the rest would be spelled out on the docket, more of any number of ongoing discussions she'd been having with them, wedding-related and otherwise. All she could think was that at least Rakka was wetting her beak, for the amount of bribery involved in getting such a slot so near her wedding.

Petra sighed, placing her father back inside his compartment in the throne, locking it and moving to follow the maid who bowed upon meeting her eyes.

* * *

Dorothea was nervous. She had the chance to speak to Petra briefly about the news of their expected guests, and had left her in charge of preparing the greeting party for their old friends. She had butterflies, standing out there on the docks, eyes scanning the sunset horizon for the Adrestian Eagle waving from a mast.

She wasn't alone of course, a small army of porters were unobtrusively waiting nearby, conversing and keeping busy, leaving Dorothea alone to stare out at the ocean, picking at her wedding sleeve, making sure her beads were straight, worrying herself to death.

It took more willpower than she would admit to wait for her friends in her Brigid garb. She wondered what they would think of their sweet Dorie, wearing braids, tattooed and dressed in foreign fashions. She knew they wouldn't judge her harshly for it, but she worried all the same.

She would never let them think her anything less than fashionable, though. She'd had Keless make this especially for the occasion; the closest she could get to her old outfit before she had come to Brigid. Glorious red, it was a tight dress marked with golden accents across the bodice and sleeves, wedding sleeve pinned on as tradition dictated. She wore a slate shawl to protect her from the stiff ocean breeze.

Here skirt was flowing but unobtrusive, fluttering red fabric swaying in the wind, small decorative wood coins clanking gently from their chain across her waist.

She stood, and she thought, wondering how she'd explain Asha, explain everything that had happened. It had only been a few months, after all. She bluntly had no idea how she was going to broach the fact that spirits were going to be in attendance at her wedding either.

She let forth a gusty sigh, hoping to find some measure of peace. There it was, close enough to see with the naked eye.

The Emperor and her retinue were here.

It was all a very simple, stately thing. Their berth had already been cleared and marked with the Adrestian flag, and the ship floated almost casually to shore, anchors aweigh with a clank of chains. Another minute and the gangplank was deployed as a stately column of travel-garbed nobles stepped down the gangplank, Dorothea waiting expectantly.

While the first to step onto the docks was none other than the Emperor herself, the first to reach her, to her speechless delight was Manuela. She sprinted down the gangplank, elbowing people out of the way the moment she saw Dorothea.

"Move! Coming through, out of the way!" her dear teacher called as she shoved her way past Caspar, and Hubert and all the rest.

"Dorothea!!" she cried, running towards her with arms outstretched. What could Dorothea do but receive her, smile so wide it hurt?

"Manuela..!" She called dazedly, delightedly, holding her teacher tight and being held in turn. "I wasn't sure if you could make it..." she murmured to her, happy to speak her own tongue, if only for a time.

Manuela pulled back, eyebrow cocked and smile predatory. "And miss my little girl getting married?" She teased, tired jokes gone unspoken with age and familiarity. She was the drunk and the man-hunter, and she'd get up to both, but they both knew the real reason.

All the same, Dorothea blushed. "Manuela..." she murmured softly, gentle smile in place. "A lot has changed. You'll see soon enough," she said kindly, patting her on the shoulder before stepping forward, taking measured steps before bowing regally before the massed group. So many familiar faces, Edelgard and the Professor looking resplendent in their regalia, standing one beside the other.

"Your Imperial Majesties," she intoned formally. "I welcome you to the Brigid Islands. We have prepared a method of conveyance to lead you all back to the Palace in comfort," she stated, pulling herself back up to her full height, smile in place.

"We humbly assent," said Edelgard, a smile of her own in place. "It's good to see you looking well, Dorothea."

"I could say the same for you, Edie," she answered with a loving wink. "And Professor! Stars, but you look lovely!" She cried, arms out stretched as she looked her over appreciatively in her circlet and fine robes.

"Dorothea, it's just clothing..." murmured the Professor embarrassedly.

"Yes, dear, that makes you look fabulous! Edie, tell me you've let her know how good she looks!" Dorothea called, the rest of the Eagles stepping forth, sensing formalities were done with.

"Every day," murmured Edelgard, smile warming on her face.

"And you!" Cried Edelgard, finger pointing at Caspar. "Come here, I know you're holding it in," she teased, arms out to receive his backbreaking bear hug.

"Ooooh, I missed you Dorie! We all did, even sourpuss over there!" he cheered, gently setting her back down and gently patting her head. Hubert deigned to say nothing, simply frowning back at the man.

Dorothea laughed delightedly, heart soaring to see her beloved classmates back with her. With notable exceptions. "Where are Ferdie and Bernie?" she asked, confused. "Could they not make it?" she continued worriedly.

Edelgard shook her head. "Unfortunately not. Ferdinand heroically took on my duties so I could attend, and Bernadetta... had her reasons. I have letters and presents from both, however."

Dorothea nodded sadly. "I understand. I hope you will give them both our love when you see them," she continued, her sails flying a bit lower at the news.

"Whatever the case, the Palace awaits!" She said with a clap, reenergizing herself. "The porters can take your luggage, and we have palanquins prepared for our august guests," she said with a smile, the porters standing politely for the go-ahead of the Emperor.

Edelgard nodded, and they were off under Hubert's gimlet eye.

The ride back was admittedly a bit dull; the palanquins were of the two-person variety, the guests pairing reliably with their friends. Edelgard with the Professor, Linhardt and Caspar, Hubert hovering by her as they trekked back... it was a bit like old times, though she was more excited to have them enjoy some Brigid delicacies. She'd truly come to enjoy them.

It was nice seeing her friends gawk at everything, though. There wasn't much light left, but they were clearly appreciating how different everything was from Enbarr and Adrestia in general. The wooden houses, the palm trees, the clean dirt roads, it must certainly have been a nice change of pace, particularly for her friends who had fallen into bureaucracy in Enbarr, like Edelgard, the Professor and Hubert.

She can't remember the last time the streets of Enbarr were this clear outside of the dead of night.

It wasn't a terribly long time until the Palace gates loomed before them, guards standing at the ready and looking their best. Without a word, the doors opened invitingly with hardly a sound, and the palanquins arrived in the central garden, place down gingerly for the occupants to step out.

Petra was on the upper level, smile shining, Rakka off to the side like a ghost, arm wrapped protectively around Asha, out of sight much as she was. She was clinging to her skirts, obviously nervous from Dorothea's vantage point. She tried to offer her a reassuring smile as the guests stepped out of their palanquins, Petra speaking up once she knew she had their attention.

"My friends," she began in crisp Adrestian, resplendent in her formal Jadeheart robes, garbed in her ring of office, beads sitting in coy little rows here and there in her hair.

"It is good to see you all again, and under such wonderful circumstances. The nation of Brigid offers the Adrestian delegation hospitality, and it is my hope that you might all join us for a feast in your honor," she said, voice glowing with pride. She could see it in her, she was proud to appear before them like this.

This wasn't Petra, the foreigner others took pitied or reviled, stumbling over her words and hiding her discomfort behind a mask of politeness. Nor the trained killer from the war, best known for her lethality. This was Petra as she was always meant to be: royalty.

Looking at the faces of her friends it looks like they came to that realization as well. Edelgard gave a solemn quarter bow, as deep of a sign of respect as her position allowed of her.

"We thank you, High Jadeheart, and humbly accept. It would be our honor to attend your feast." She said formally, Professor at her side. She was the one who spoke up to say what they were all feeling.

"It's good to see you again, Petra," she said in her usual mellow tone, edges warmed by the smile on her face.

Petra smiled radiantly. "And to you all as well. Come, come! The porters will deliver your things to your rooms, and you may spend some time freshening up after your journey; the feast will begin in half an hour," she said jovially.

In a swirl of skirts, Petra stepped away, likely to get out of her formalwear. Her day would only just be ending, if her guess was right, and having looked at the garments closely herself, she knew her vestments were not the most comfortable thing to wear, and never to be worn for a dinner. Getting stains out would be a task that would have poor Keless working late into the night to preserve the delicate colors and embroidery.

Dorothea lead her friends up to their rooms, intersecting with the porters in the process of depositing their items. She'd personally decided on the rooming arrangements so she quickly sent everyone to their designated rooms with no further events of note.

Finally, once everyone had been sent to their rooms, Dorothea let out an exhausted breath. She'd best go freshen up as well, the feast would be an enjoyable affair and she wanted to enjoy it properly.

She hoped to catch sight of Asha, but it seemed Rakka was caring for her now, which was just as well. She returned to her room to reapply her make-up and make sure she looked like the bride-to-be of the Jadeheart.


	15. Ashes to ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorothea undertakes an emotional roller coaster; she gets a letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone. This is a gentle content warning, for some fairly legitimate angst; if you have sensitive feelings about unrequited love, perhaps you would do well to treat the end of the feast as the end of the chapter.

Dorothea is not ashamed to say she made sure to look her best for the feast.

All of her friends were there, to celebrate her wedding, and... she had a daughter to introduce them to.

She had preened and put careful effort into ensuring that everything was perfect. The meals were Brigid traditional fare, but there were also some fusion recipes, Adrestian bruschetta and other delicacies, but she had also ensured her guests might have forks and knives if they so desired.

The rooms would be private, each room having Brigid garb for any who wished to wear something of the Islands.

She just wanted everything to go well. Her nervousness had her walking a tightrope as she made her way to the feast hall, the first there. Good, good. She, Petra and Asha would take their seats, the maids would call the guests and then it would be a lovely evening of wine and song, just like the old days.

She had remarked herself so carefully. She bore crimson lips, long, dark lashes, glimmering skin, delicately curled hair holding the few humble rows of beads she allowed herself in daily life.

When Asha arrived, resplendent in red and purple, though, her mind drew a blank. Asha. Asha changed everything, and it was her duty to make sure she introduced her properly.

The poor dear was clearly nervous, as she stood awkwardly next to her, looking over the spread of food with trepidation.

"Are you alright, Asha?" she asked gently, stroking her growing hair. It was halfway down her neck now, and looking more beautiful every day, it seemed.

She made no movement to confirm or deny, simply twiddling her fingers. "Nervous," was all she said. Dorothea smiled despite herself.

"Of course, dear, I understand. Don't worry, I promise everyone is kind and they will love you, even Hubert," she said, hoping to put her at ease, though it did not seem to make much difference.

She stared down at her feet, biting at her bottom lip. On a whim, she decided to grab her hand. "Won't you come with me, Asha?" She asked gently, locking eyes with her when she turned her head questioningly.

"...Yes," she said, obviously seeming to do it for propriety's sake. The thought saddened her, but she was certain that maybe what she had planned might put her at ease, even if her plot was a bit selfish.

Gently, she tugged her away from the hall, leading her down the paths to the guests' accommodations. She'd been the one to organize the arrangements, so she knew exactly who was behind the door she knocked on even as Asha tensed.

In a song and dance she had experienced a thousand time before, she heard a muffled curse, followed by a sweetly called "Just a minute~!" before yet more muffled cursing and rambling as she waited patiently for her old mentor.

Finally, the door slid open after the sound of Manuela cursing at the foreign locking mechanism.

"Apologies, I didn't realize it was time already-oh! Hello, Dorothea," said Manuela, face done up once more, eyes sharpened by make up, lips rouged and face powdered just as she had taught her as a child.

"Hi, Manuela," she said warmly. "Don't worry, the feast isn't quite yet. I just... thought I should introduce you to someone first," she said, turning to look at Asha, stroking her back encouragingly as she looked at the foreign woman before her.

Manuela looked like no one on the islands, it was true. She was the same as her, a foreigner in these lands, and she could sense both of their surprise when they locked eyes with one another.

"...and who's this?" asked Manuela gently, kneeling down to Asha's level. "I am Manuela Casagranda, at your service. An old friend of Dorothea's," she said gently, eyes crinkling kindly.

Dorothea gave a soft hum. "You and I both know you're more than a friend to me, Manuela. You're my mentor, my idol," she paused, raising her courage. "...For most intents and purposes, you are my mother."

Manuela's head whipped to face her, Asha joining her gaze curiously. Manuela's gaze was complicated; they both on some level understood their relationship, but to have her state it so baldly was almost unheard of between them. She'd only ever called her mother once, when she had first fallen too deep into her cups as a youth, holding her and sniffling and calling her the mother she always wanted.

"Dorothea..?" inquired Manuela, a strain of surprise and worry in her tone.

Dorothea knelt down as well, the three of them at the same height in the doorway.

"Manuela," she began, placing her hand back on Asha's back. "This is Asha," she said softly, then reaching up to stroke her cheek. "Your grand-daughter."

Manuela breathed, surprise wreathing her features as Dorothea continued. "We adopted her. She was going to be introduced properly at the feast, but... you deserve more than that."

Manuela's face was unreadable, but Dorothea continued all the same. "And Asha," she said softly, pushing her nervousness down viciously. "This is your other grandmother, Manuela Casagranda. My mother."

Asha and Manuela looked at each other with twinned expressions of fear and anticipation. Manuela was the first to break the stalemate, releasing a soft "oh," hand reaching up to caress Asha's cheek but pausing before she did.

"Hello, little one," she said softly, warm eyes unreadable. "I hope we can be friends," she said softly.

Asha nodded once, jerkily. "...I would like that, Miss Casagranda," she said softly, injecting a surprising amount of warmth into her tone.

Manuela gave a single huff of laughter. "Now, now, dear, no need for that. Just call me Manuela," she said kindly. "Maybe keep Grandma for when we're in private, okay?" She said with a wink.

Asha nodded seriously, obviously taking her words to heart, making Manuela give a wet laugh. "Goodness, Dorie, you've got a very polite child, don't you? Much more polite than you were," she teased, voice growing shaky.

Unprompted, Dorothea reached forward to wrap them both into a warm hug. "I hope, with all my heart that you can be a part of her life, Manuela," she murmured, savoring the feeling of some of the most important people in her life being so close to her.

Manuela snorted derisively. "How could I not, Dorie? I'm an ex-Prima Donna, my days are past me. Retiring to the islands sounds like a lovely next step," she said cheerily.

Dorothea pulled back, glaring at her. "You're still the Divine Songstress of the Mittelfrank and you know it, Manuela. Don't speak ill of yourself," she chided gently.

"You're still a great doctor as well, any city would be glad to have such a skilled healer, wherever you went."

Manuela gave an amused hum. "If you say so... daughter," she said softly, stroking her cheek. 

Dorothea couldn't have fought the blush creeping down her neck if she'd tried. Manuela was the first to stand, giving an exaggerated groan as she stretched her back.

"Oh, don't ever get old, Dorie, it's not all it's cracked up to be," she bemoaned in joking tones.

"I suppose we may as well go to where the party will be, then? I'm ready, after all," she said thoughtfully, mind seeming to wander even as she said it.

Asha looked at Manuela curiously, giving Dorothea a meaningful look. 

Dorothea stood up, looking at Manuela curiously. "Something on your mind?" she asked gently.

"Just wondering what it'd be like to be here, a foreign doctor and singer. It doesn't seem that bad," she mused softly.

Dorothea's heart swelled at the thought, more than she knew to express. "Well, give it some though, okay? We would love to have you closer to us," she said firmly, grabbing Asha's hand and walking them towards the feast-hall once more.

It was only after they'd started walking that she nearly jumped, gently releasing Asha's hand as she walked awkwardly beside her.

Asha was a young lady, not some toddler who needed to be led by the hand. She needed to remember that Asha was growing up.

That left a pang in her chest, of all the time she'd missed with her, but there was nothing to be done for it.

When they finally returned to the hall, the chef staff was beginning to put down the initial appetizers, vegetables, samosas and other various finger-foods. Petra sat at the head of the table, garbed in her usual hunting leathers, sending Dorothea back to the war, the only real difference between then and now being the white sleeve she wore over her tattoo.

"There you are," called Petra softly. "And you've brought Manuela! Good to see you, Professor," she said with a warm smile.

It was as easy as breathing to simply sit down next to her fiancée, sleeves matching opposites as the serving staff politely provided them with filled plates. Dorothea ate on of the samosas as Asha sat at her left hand, in a place of high honor as she deserved.

Petra and Manuela took the chance to catch up, Manuela obviously appreciative of how much Petra had grown since last she saw her, and especially of her choice of mate, taking her divine prerogative as the in-law to tease the woman kindly.

After a few minutes of teasing, the rest of the Eagles began to funnel in, all of them giving polite greetings as they found their seat. Edelgard was the first to her seat, opposite of Petra and Byleth seating herself opposite of Dorothea at opposing sides of the long table.

Once the group had finished being seated, the hungrier members already nipping at samosas or fried shrimp or any of the other treats available.

"Welcome, everyone," said Petra in that formal voice, sonorous and dignified. "You are here to help celebrate my marriage to my lovely bride, Dorothea Arnault. In service to that, I demand that you all eat, drink and be merry!" she said forcefully, punctuating her statement with a solid bite from a spring roll.

Caspar gave a raucous cheer, putting an entire samosa into his mouth while the others simply gave a subdued cheer.

All at once, though, it seemed the focus had shifted to the one person who had not been a part of the strike force.

"So, is anyone going to mention the child who's just sitting here?" Asked Linhardt lazily, gesturing vaguely towards Asha.

"She is our daughter," said Petra definitively.

This very effectively silenced the room, everyone but Manuela zeroing in on the child who was sitting awkwardly, eating a slice of goat cheese bruschetta nervously before putting it down.

With all the grace she could muster, Asha stood up, giving a nervous wave to the audience. Dorothea noticed how Edelgard was looking at her particularly intensely.

"I am Asha," she began. "Adopted daughter of Petra and Dorothea," she said simply, before sitting back down and getting back to her bruschetta.

Mercifully, there was no explosion of questions, or forceful demand for Asha's attention. The group understood well what it was to be shy, all of them having had to tame the skittish Bernadetta in their own ways.

Caspar was the first to act, though. After choking down his ill-conceived whole Samosa, he stood, walking quietly towards Asha, who was far on the other side of the table from him and squatting down next to her and giving one of his trademark winning smiles. He nodded to Dorothea before turning to Asha.

"Hey Asha!" he said cheerily, "I'm Caspar, one of your moms' friends from back in the old days. It's really nice to meet you!" He said kindly, grabbing her hand and giving it a few shakes despite Asha simply goggling at the strange move, arm waving limply. "I wish I'da known you were here, or I'da gotten you a present!"

Dorothea could only giggle at his antics. "Don't worry, Asha, he's a big teddy bear," she gave Caspar a reassuring squeeze to his shoulder in thanks. "He's practically your uncle," she continued fondly.

Caspar blushed at that, countering his hair impressively. She patted him on the back. "What? It's true," said Petra from off to the side, smile giving away the tease, true though it was.

"Yeah, well, if you're my sister then Petra is too and I kiss my sisters!" He countered, fiery, running between them and giving them both a peck on the cheek before running off back to his seat.

They both laughed at his antics, even as Linhardt sighed at his love's antics. Dorothea gave him a cat's smile, so loving to tease her friends for being in love, just as she expected them to tease her. 

Edelgard and Byleth meanwhile seemed to be deep in conversation, hardly pecking at their food, on subjects unknown, leaving Hubert to sit uncomfortably on his own, the rest of the Eagles seeming to stay in their pairs. She was about to try to involve him in some kind of conversation, but the serving staff brought in the main course and stealing her thunder with a huge boar, gleaming in the light, glistening with glaze and cooked whole.

Plates were expertly moved and organized to allow the centerpiece to be slid onto the table, a chef expertly cutting prime flank for the Jadeheart and her consort, then moving onto Edelgard and Byleth, and further on.

Unbidden, she reached under the table, grasping Petra's hand softly.

A lot had changed. Bernadetta and Ferdinand weren't here, and she felt their absence keenly. Caspar was doing his best to include even Hubert, but conversation was stilted, halting. Edelgard and Byleth hardly spoke to anyone else.

A sad coldness sank into the pit of her heart. They were all different now, weren't they? Without a war to fight, there was little more than memory to bind them together. She could see how Edelgard and Petra both were biting back the urge to discuss matters of state with one another.

They'd been through so much. But what bound them, now? Her marriage, of course, but in the greater sense. She hadn't sent them letters in a long time, and that was her fault. She had no address for a long time with the troupe, but now...

It hurt more than she wanted to admit that Bernadetta wasn't here. Ferdinand she understood, he'd been preparing to be Prime Minister his entire life, but...

She thought Bernadetta and she were close enough for her to overcome her anxiety to see her special moment. That they weren't stung.

Everyone ate the boar, the pleasant silence of people enjoying a meal ringing hollow to her.

People grew older and drifted apart, and only momentous times like these brought them back together. A part of her cried out that such was all the reason she needed to cherish these moments even more, but...

Things changed. Even as she gained a wife, a daughter, the Eagles had all drifted away.

The boar tasted of ash in her mouth, even as Asha laughed at some strange story Linhardt was telling her.

She continued to swallow the ashes of their joyful reunion all throughout the night, Dorothea playing her role as expertly as she would have at the Mittelfrank.

When the night came and everyone began to say their goodbyes for the night to be rested for the wedding tomorrow, she was surprised when it was Edelgard who cornered her, having found her room after everyone else had gone, stopping her before she could even head in.

She called her name, lavender eyes aglow in the darkness.

"Before you head to bed... I have been asked to give you something of importance," the Emperor of Adrestia stated. She reached into the voluminous folds of her greatcoat, pulling out a cream-colored envelope bearing the seal of Varley. She looked down at it in trepidation, surprised when she handed an additional package, wrapped tightly and bound with twine.

"Bernadetta wished to make two things clear: the first is that she is truly sorry she couldn't come. The second is that she wishes for you to burn that letter after reading, and to never speak of its contents to anyone, even Petra."

She stepped back, for once the mantle she wore seeming to chafe her. "I... am sorry to have to give it to you. I know how things have changed. You did a good job hiding, but I was not the only one to notice the pain you hid, Dorothea. We are all here, if there is any way we can help."

She placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Sleep well, Dorothea."

And with that, she was off, leaving Dorothea holding two thin packets. Once Edelgard was out of sight, she stepped into her room and sat at her desk, an unnameable fear in her chest. Oh, it was probably just Bernadetta being her usual excessively nervous self, wanting her to burn the letter, but... she doubted it, this time.

With practiced fingers the letter unfolded before her, revealing Bernadetta's pretty scrawl. 

_Dearest Dorothea,_

_I would ask after your health and how you are doing, but that seems foolish given the circumstances._

_I write this to you, because even in this matter I am a coward, not brave enough to show my face. But perhaps that is for the best, this time._

_I am very happy for you, Dorothea. You deserve all the love in the world, and I don't doubt that Petra will be equal to the task of loving you as I think you should be._

_Were that it was I who could be the one to care for you, but I am a coward, and cowards miss their chances._

  
_I am no fool, Dorothea. I knew Petra was the one for whom you felt strongly. You loved me like a friend, a sister, but it was for Petra that you blushed._

_I had wanted to work up the courage to ask you, to hold your hand, to perhaps, even in my foolish youth beg for your lips to touch mine, but I never did. I let my chances slip away, as you and Petra grew closer and closer, my heart squeezed tighter with each_

_look, each smile, each blush._

_When you had made her some fish, during Flayn's contest all those years ago, I knew my chances were nil but still I prayed._

  
_I am not so foolhardy as to come to your wedding and ask for your hand; I have already lost, and though it tears my heart to admit it, I must accept that. There is no world in which you would leave her for a cowardly Countess, even if she showed her face._

_It is for this reason that I cannot attend your nuptials, Dorothea. Because I am weak, and because I am a coward._

_If you only knew how many scraps of paper I have tossed working up the courage to write even this, my muse, you would laugh at me._

_You would scorn me, as I so richly deserve, offering you nothing but pain as a bridal gift._

_But I suppose this is the best thing I can offer, all the same, sharp and painful though it is, despite how much it hurts me, how much it will hurt you. Because if nothing else, you deserve my honesty, so that you know why I can never see you again._

_I love you, Dorothea Arnault, and I always have._

_I ask that you please forget about me, and about my shameful feelings. I ask that you live a beautiful, joyful life with your love, and that you forget about Bernadetta von Varley, the coward. That is the kindest gift I can offer. Do not seek me out, do not try to_

_mend our relationship. I can't take it. I have to be honest with myself. To see you but to be unable to have you is not enough anymore._

_I let you care for me as a friend, despite how I felt about you, because I was a coward who believed herself unworthy, and was thankful to have even the scraps of your affection, even as she used those friendly memories in the dead of night._

_But my weakness proved my low opinion of myself to be true. I was weak. I wasn't brave enough to fight for your affections._

_I was too afraid to have my heart broken._

_But that is the way of things. We risk our lives to live, and we risk our hearts to make our lives worth living._

  
_And so, I must pay the price of my cowardice, and I must live the cold and empty life I always knew I deserved._

_I have attached a hoop. It is a selfish gift. I had hoped, that, perhaps... well. It feels gauche to talk about that when you yourself are getting married._

_Suffice to say, it signified a hope for the future. You may do what you please with it; I have, after all, asked you to forget me. But all the same, I did not have the strength to throw this away. Perhaps you will in my stead._

_All the same, I ask one thing. Even if you don't forget me, please don't hate me. If you were to hate me, I would die._

_Please live well, Dorothea._

_With everlasting love,_

_Bernadetta von Varley, Countess_   
_Member of the Black Eagle Strike Force_

Dorothea put down the letter, mute. There were tearstains all long the letter, splatters of ink which she found herself adding onto.

Oh, Goddess. All these years... All these years she'd carried a torch for her and she had no idea.

She swallowed a sob. No wonder she couldn't come. No wonder she wanted this letter burned. Her heart screamed, her throat was closed tight, choking her.

With trembling fingers, she reached for the second package, tearing it open clumsily, tears flowing freely as she looked at Bernadetta's gift.

Herons. It was a pair of herons, standing over a nest. One purple, one brown, two eggs behind the purple one, standing over them protectively as the brown one preened and groomed her. It was stunning.

Bernadetta was incredible with a needle, and she'd told her as much on many occasions to give the woman a bit of confidence, but it was never truer than in the stunning details of the hoop. It was completely consumed by greenery and water, the two herons picked out in loving detail, every feather seeming to leap out at her, reflecting in the water, sunlight gleaming.

She'd hurt her so much, and she never even knew. She felt a monster. With shaking hands, she awkwardly grabbed the letter. It was a long one, it had taken her many pages to write.

One by one, she burned them with her magic, holding each page as it burned her tears away and left aught but cinders behind.

Soon, there was nothing but the hoop. 

She picked it up, and decisively placed it into the jewelry box Petra had given her.

As if a ghost, she walked quietly to her wardrobe, dressing in her night gown and curling into her bed, heart aching as she reaffixed her white tattoo sleeve.

She did not have the energy to feel much of anything, anymore, so Dorothea did all that she could do: she slept like the dead, and prayed the next day would be better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with me, everyone. Your support means the world. I hope you can forgive me; Bernadetta is one of my favorite characters, and... well. I empathize with her, and I wanted her to have a place, even if it is a painful one.
> 
> If you'd like to get mad at me, you can find me at https://discord.gg/KKk8jn5 which is the Jadeheart discord. All are welcome.


	16. Dearly Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get married.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, my friends! Thank you so much for your patience for that delay. I offer you the ceremony. Soon comes the reception!

Today was her wedding day.

She had prepared for this; she had double-checked the preparations, conferred with Rakka and ensured that all would go as had been planned.

She opened her eyes in the pre-dawn light, stomach roiling. She supposed it was only to be expected that a person such as herself would be nervous all the same. She stared up at the ceiling, wondering if her friends were sleeping better than she was. After being on dry land after a few days at sea, she could only hope so.

She remembered the ride back to Brigid, once the war had ended. It had felt too long and yet as fast as an eyeblink all at once. The thought of seeing her countrymen, of seeing all that had changed and what had not… it was terrifying for her, to know that when she reached land it would belong to her, and it would be her responsibility to take care of every soul on that island.

In its own way it was repeating once more; once she walked down the aisle, when they had lit the candle and clasped hands, she and Dorothea would be sworn to one another. Her life would be her responsibility all the more formally. It was no different from the state of affairs, but the thought alone was one which demanded her care.

She had been waiting for this day her whole life, and yet she was nervous, wishing she had another day to prepare, another week perhaps.She tossed and turned, sleep leaving her completely. With an exhausted sigh she stood up, braving the walk over to the kitchens to perhaps settle herself with a cup of tea.

It was perhaps not a surprise, then, that she found Dorothea doing much the same, kettle in front of her with a cup, sitting at the bar which existed for just such situations.

“...Dorothea?” Petra called gently, stepping into the room on soundless feet. She did not so much as twitch.

“Hello, Petra. Come for some tea as well?” she asked softly, standing to fetch a cup from the cupboards.

“That sounds wonderful,” she admitted, taking the seat next to her at the bar.

She came back with the cup, deftly filling it. “It’s been steeping a while, so it might be a bit strong.”

Petra wrapped her hands around the cup appreciatively, enjoying the feel of warmth on her hands. “That’s alright; I think I need something strong to either send me back to sleep or wake me up,” she admitted.

“We probably shouldn’t show up to our own wedding tired,” responded Dorothea without her usual teasing lilt, simply sipping at her tea. It was then he saw her condition;

If she was tired, Dorothea was exhausted. She wasn’t sure she slept at all tonight, circles beneath her eyes. 

She reached a hand forward, clasping one of hers. “Nervous, my love?” she asked with all the care she could muster. “I am too. It’s okay,” she soothed.

She gave a mirthless laugh, staring down at their joined hands. “I guess you could call it that,” she murmured unhappily. “Just… thinking about the past, and what’s going to happen now.”

Dorothea then put the fear of the Spirits in her, when she gave a miserable sniffle. In desperate instinct, she reached forward, wrapping her arms around Dorothea, tea forgotten.

“What’s wrong, my love?” she whispered softly, scared.

Dorothea did not resist, hands weakly wrapping around her waist. “It’s just… been a long day,” she managed quietly. “So many people I don’t know I’ll ever see again, who were so important to me…” she murmured, desolate.

She hugged Petra closer. “I regret nothing,” she said softly, firmly. “But even this path, the best I knew to do, has had a price to pay. I guess I didn’t realize, until… until today. The banquet, people not being there… and all of that.”

Petra did not know what to say. In her own way she was experiencing the same sort of nerves that she was, the knowledge that they were both crossing a threshold into a new part of their life, wondering if they had made the right choices to be where they are. 

So, she said nothing, stroking her love’s back, nuzzling her close and gently working the knots out of her shoulders. She was pleased as she saw her slowly coming apart with a breathy sigh.  
  
“We must rest, sweet one,” she whispered softly, easily lifting her off her chair in a bridal carry, making Dorothea squeak and wrap her arms around Petra’s neck to keep balanced.

The silk of her sleeve was luxurious against her neck, a delicious counterpoint to her other naked arm. It took more effort than she’d freely admit to refrain from peeking beneath it.

She chafed under the formalities in this thing, wished for her wife to simply hurry and be her _wife_ as her heart had known for years.

She carried her effortlessly, her passenger uncharacteristically mute. 

The moon lit their way back through the corridors until Petra gently deposited her at the entrance to her room. She looked into her eyes, warmth overflowing in her gaze.

“It is okay to be nervous, to think about all that has happened. Just know that in every day going forward, I will be there to protect and guide you when you need it,” Petra offered gently, grasping her shoulders, kissing her forehead before slowly moving downwards, kissing her cheeks, her nose, and finally her perfect lips.

Dorothea pulled here closer, their kiss dragging on for long, precious moments. She felt Dorothea’s arms wrapped appreciatively around her frame, her own doing the same pressing them ever closer, her own hand tangled in her love’s hair.

“Tonight will be the last night you sleep alone,” she promised fiercely. With a regretful movement, she broke away from Dorothea, stepping back and opening the door for her.

“Rest well, my heart. I will see you tomorrow,” she promised.

Dorothea nodded mutely, small smile on her face. With a final peck on the cheek, she stepped into her room.  
  
“Good night, Petra,” she murmured, closing the door with a soft click.   
  
Petra sighed as she always did when she had to leave Dorothea’s presence. Without further ado, she returned to her rooms, ache in her eyes promising that sleep would come for her if she willed it.

It was an eyeblink later when Dorothea was awakened by one of the maids.  
  
That is to say, there were more than a few maids in her room.   
  
“Good morning, madam,” said the one who had touched her shoulder to rouse her. “It is mid-morning; time to begin preparations!” she said gleefully as Dorothea pulled herself out of bed, sleep in her eyes. A cracking yawn escaped her before she could stop it.   
  
“Well, I suppose that’s that, then. How long am I to be in the chair?” she asked neutrally, standing and giving herself a good stretch. This wasn’t the first time she’d been properly made over, transformed into an ideal with cloth and paint.

A man stepped forward, humming thoughtfully. “Perhaps two, maybe three hours. We have budgeted time for breakfast and unexpected issues, so we have time,” he said.  
  
“Hello, my lady,” he stated with a polite bow. “I am to be the one overseeing your make-up and hairdressing for this day. My name is Turi.”

He had sharp eyes, and clearly took care in his appearance; his bronze skin was flawless, dark hair artfully tousled without getting in his eyes, dressed in tight-fitting clothing hidden by a skirt and shawl.  
  
She nodded in his direction. “A pleasure, Turi. I leave you to your craft, then, I suppose. Dress me, paint me, do what must be done to make me amazing,” she said, sleep still haunting her.

Turi nodded gravely.

It was a long and involved process, as she knew it would be. At the least, there were small snacks she could nibble on as they worked; cut carrots, flatbread. Things which would ensure no crumbs.

They worked efficiently, but even efficiently it was long and demanding work; they were adamant that they could not under any circumstance see what was beneath her sleeve and she agreed, but keeping it in place as they put her into the strange, wrapped confection which left her arm bare but for its sleeve was certainly complex.

She, of course, did not have a mirror. At least that was similar to the mainland. A bride must wait until she is perfect to gaze upon herself in all her glory.

The maids under Turi’s command were a well-organized unit, cleaning, cutting and buffing her nails, painting them a fiery crimson. They artfully teased her hair, ensured that every line of clothing was pristine for the strange garment she wore; it only went to her knees, which she had not expected. Like some sort of elaborate party dress, made of wound silk, her thighs wrapped separately. And then covered again in a configuration like a skirt, climbing higher, leaving delicate diamonds of pale flesh against its red fabric, lined with gold at strategic junctures at the end of each limb and along the fringe of her skirt in delicate, geometric patterns meant to highlight and direct the eye.

It was tantalizing in a way she had not imagined her wedding dress to look. Even with the weight of age, the tight whirl of silk highlighted her curves, her soft flesh delectable, a diamond of skin at her belly, above her breasts, at each hip, tantalizing hints of what her body had to offer.

She felt like she was being garbed for a seduction instead of a wedding, she thought, blushing.

It was a beautiful counterpoint to her pure white sleeve, as well.

Then came the jewelry. The delicate chains bearing bronze discs which clattered as she walked, hugged her hips. A delicate gold band at her ring-toe, and bangles at her wrists and ankles in that same striking russet gold.

She loved the color of bronze. Did they know, she wondered?

Her hands remained unadorned.

Her hair, however… such was a more complicated matter. They had taken her jewelry box, opening it to find her many beads, undoing the ones already in her hair as they all discussed in detail which ones were worthy of the occasion.

Some were easy; felling the Immaculate One, her bead marking her fall into love with Petra, others were more personal which she had to make cases for. Her black bead representing the Mittelfrank; her adoption of Asha. She had survived many battles, and lived a hard life; she had many things to be proud of, but narrowing it to fill what she began to understand was a wedding arrangement of her beads was complicated; Turi discussed feverishly with the maids as to which bead should sit next to which in the delicate assortment.

It was vital, she gathered, to make it pleasing so as to give the Spirits a good idea of the bride’s soul as they gazed upon her.

Even as they discussed they brushed and styled her hair, delicate, sweet-smelling oils surely making it gleam beautifully. She hadn’t been so thoroughly worked over in this way since the Mittelfrank all those years ago… and even then only for opening night.

She almost said something, when she saw them setting braids, marked with a few sporadic beads; Brigid braids.

She felt a pang in her chest. She had not worn a braid yet; did not want to, until Petra herself had taught her.

  
It was a childish wish. Another thing to leave behind, she thought. If not for a wedding, what other opportunity would make a worthy alternative?

She was tired, though. She allowed them their argument stoically, accepting they had her best interests at heart in whatever esoteric symbolism was involved in this ceremony. She let her eyes close as they delicately marked her, with rouge, with powders, lining her eyelids delicately with a violet color to highlight her eyes. They were almost finished.

She was thankful when Turi looked down at her, hands at his hips with a gentle grunt of satisfaction. He snapped his fingers at one of the maids.“Mirror,” he ordered, before snapping his fingers and pointing at another one. “And you, the bridemother,” both maids nodded decisively, rushing off to the appointed tasks.

Dorothea could not resist. “Why are you calling for my mother?” she asked quietly, 

“Because once you are cleared to leave, the ceremony will begin; your mother will walk you from this room, your home, to the spirit altar,” he explained in practiced tones. “Normally you’d walk here from your actual home, but that is perhaps not exactly feasible,” he said, his tone amused.

She made a noise of understanding, still sitting nervously in her chair.

She was afraid to look upon herself. She was adrift, she just wanted all of this to be done. She wished to cry, but could not risk damaging her makeup.

This was not what she had imagined her wedding to feel like.

She had imagined giddiness, delight, excitement.

But all she could really think about was what she was leaving behind.

A hand appeared on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, madam. Everyone reacts differently to their wedding day, and not all of them happily. It’s a big change,” offered Turi with surprising kindness.

“When I was to be wed, I didn’t know what was happening,” he opined. “I was going to stop being single for good.”  
  
He walked off, Dorothea watching him as he gestured animatedly. “No more parties, no more drinking, all of it was going away, I thought! I was to become a great bore!” he turned to look at her, sharp eyes pinning her. “Whatever you think you’re losing, you don’t have to. It just means you have to fight a little harder. And if that,” he gestured to her crown of beads, “is anything to go by, you’re pretty good at fighting.”

Dorothea snorted despite herself, unladylike. “So you fight for your ability to have parties and drink?” she asked, half-teasing.   
  
“My husband, unfortunately, _is_ a great bore, unlike me. You have to drag him kicking and screaming from his loom to do anything, never mind have _fun,_ horror of horrors,” he offered with a shrug.

She could not help but smile, his pep-talk successful. “You’ve done this a lot, haven’t you?” she asked, amused.  
  
“Believe me, you’re not my first nervous bride and you won’t be my last,” he said, amused.

The door finally opened, one of the maids lugging in a full-length mirror, Manuela following in behind both of the maids.

Manuela too looked lovely, she observed distantly. Her dress was gorgeous, white with gold banding all along its edges, make-up perfect as ever.

She was not prepared for how her mother looked at her, though, first with eyes widening, followed by a gasp caught by her hands as they flew to her mouth.

“Dorothea…” she whispered, overcome. She stepped closer thoughtlessly, reaching forward, Dorothea placing her hands into hers as she was lifted up. 

“Oh, Dorie… you look incredible,” she said, eyes shining before she wrapped her arms around in her in a gentle hug. “Petra won’t know what hit her,” she promised.

She pulled back, slowly turning her towards the full-length mirror.

Seeing the both of them holding each other close, looking positively amazing… she looked more like some sort of beautiful animal, rather than a human.

Something to be appreciated, to love and care for, not to interact with in the way a human does with another human.

She felt like she was something else, even if she knew she would only be this thing for a few hours at best.

She didn’t know what to say. She simply watched herself, stepping closer to the mirror, elegantly manicured fingers reaching towards her reflection in disbelief.  
  
“This is me..?” she whispered, looking at herself. She looked ethereal. Her curves were accentuated, her eyes popped, lips sinfully red, hair artfully tousled, beads delicately keeping her hair in place in what was nearly a diadem configuration; her life, lined just above her forehead.

One sleeve white, the other bare. But not for long.

“You’ve all done amazing work…” Dorothea said dreamily. “Thank you.”  
  
Turi gives a suspiciously pleased little cough.   
  
“Well, it’s time, then, madam. Your intended is already prepared, waiting in isolation for you with her grandmother. Your mother will bring you to the right place.”   
  
With a shaky nod, she wrapped herself around Manuela’s arm nervously, soothed by her soft fingers on her shoulder. “It will be alright, dear,” she whispered softly. A maid kneeled, gently wrapping a pair of calf-length sandals onto her feet, and then they began their journey, from home to where she was to be wed.

It was a beautiful thought, really. Being led into her new life by her mother, supporting her at her side. She meditated on her thoughts and her mostly-empty stomach as they walked through the halls of the Palace, past the throne room, past the gardens into the deep forest that lived behind them.

The sun shined brightly, even through the leaves, peppering them with rays and motes of light as they walked; the earth smelled clean and pure. Everything was perfect, she had to admit. Perhaps their incorporeal guests had something to do with that. Only a few fat, white clouds floating lazily along in the clear blue sky through the canopy.

The forest, despite what she was sure was an unusual number of humans in its depths, was full of life; cicadas buzzed, birds chirped; she saw some small furry animal skitter by in the distance.

Manuela held her firmly but not tightly, warm smile on her face whenever she looked at her daughter. “Petra won’t know what hit her,” she said again conspiratorially.

Dorothea could only smile, her mind at ease between her mother being there and the smell of the outdoors refreshing her.

They walked on, quietly enjoying one another’s company.

“You know, I remember, back at Garreg Mach when you had shocked the poor girl and brought her to me…” she said, barely holding back a laugh. “You let yourself get too emotional and shocked her with what must have been an hour’s worth of static!” she laughed, Dorothea turning red at the embarrassing memory. 

“M-Manuela…” she murmured uncomfortably at the memory. “Oh, come now, dear, you were beside yourself with guilt, and she forgave you the moment she woke up, it was all fine. Just a fun memory, don’t you think?” She smiled as well, staring up into the trees. “I think that’s when I first realized there was something between you two, even as you hunted for a man.”

Dorothea remembered that day with clarity, even after all this time. They had only been classmates for a few days, and she was still new to the powers that made her worthy of joining Garreg Mach. They spoke, and got to know one another sitting in the garden, and Petra was being perfectly lovely, and then, all of a sudden, she’d fallen onto the floor after she touched her shoulder.

In a mighty feat for little Dorothea, she grabbed her, slung her over her back and immediately dragged her to the infirmary only for Manuela to tease her mercilessly at Petra’s bedside.

She’d been on her much too fast when she woke up, immediately seizing her, apologizing tearfully for her blunder, only for a bemused Petra to simply forgive her out of hand once she’d found her bearings. She had no idea how to respond then, and she wouldn’t know how to respond now.

“How much longer?” Dorothea asked gently, after a long silence.

“Not much,” Manuela answered easily. 

The trees began to thin, until they stood at the edge of a large clearing. In it were a great many people, perhaps 70, tightly packed and seated on the forest floor in all their finery before a large paper screen, running the length of the clearing. To either side behind the screen were two small rice paper cubes, large enough to seat a person with perhaps 5 feet of distance between them with a violet carpet connecting them and the altar past them..

Rakka stood before the one on the opposite side of the clearing from her, holding an ornate box; Kin was also present between the two boxes, behind an ornate altar holding not just Xantcha’s idol, eyes aglow, but a second one across from him on the other side of the long table which bore no ornamentations beyond two lit candles and a larger one in the center bearing two wicks. The other idol was a mysterious statue of what might have been some great beast, swathed in deep green leaves, sharp golden eyes gleaming through them, its form shrouded.

Rakka gave her mother a nod, and Manuela did the same in turn. “You must enter your chamber, darling,” she said gently, opening the box, revealing a raised wooden floor with a pillow inside it.

Wordlessly, she did as she was asked, placing herself within its confines as the door slid closed.

Petra was across from her; she was doing the exact thing she was. Waiting. Worrying. Wondering.

She seated herself properly upon her pillow, hands clasped in her lap.

The thing that broke her from her nervous reverie, of wondering about what her intended was doing, thinking, what she looked liked was a small gust of smoke, slithering into her room, quickly forming into the small, doll-sized form of her friend Xantcha.

“Oh!” she gasped in surprise, giving him a finger to scale onto as she brought him up to eye level.  
  
“What are you doing here, Xantcha..? I’m pretty sure it’s only supposed to be me in here,” she murmured softly.

He shook his eternally surprised-looking head, pointing a fingerless arm at her.

“I’m… yours..?” she seemed to grasp from the strange bond between them. “You’re my representative to the spirits,” she confirmed. He nodded, sitting down weightlessly, tail and feet kicking in tandem on either side of her finger.

He gave her a gentle little wave. Dorothea smiled. “I know you’ll do great, Xantcha. If you have to go, then off with you,” she said softly, watching him give a sneeze which dissolved him completely, seeming to take her worries with it.

Spirits. Such strange things, she mused, unaccountably happy at the thought.

She sat in the box, patiently.  
  
She was not sure what they were waiting for. She still knew close to nothing about Brigidian weddings, so all she could do was wait, and trust that if needed someone would give her the necessary cues.

There were distant sounds which she could make out through the paper walls; people moving, low murmurs, what she recognized as Rakka and Manuela’s voices.

It came as a surprise, then, when after a few more minutes the door to her chamber was swiftly opened, as was the chamber across from hers. She stared down, afraid to look quite yet. Nervously, she stood.

She stepped out of the box, distantly noticing that both of the chamber’s doors had opened to form yet another screen for them, smaller than the grand one which she saw had been moved.She only stopped when she saw tanned, sandalled feet across from her.

She didn’t know if Petra was doing the same thing as she.   
  
The anticipation was killing her.

She looked up, green meeting violet.

She was as magnificent as she always knew she was meant to be.

Her hair gleamed; wreathed in perhaps two dozen beads, same as her. Her hours of study on the bead text Kin had given her so seemingly long ago served her well. She saw the stories that she valued.

Meeting with a spirit. Falling in love. Inheriting her throne. The family she had lost, the victories she had won.

The only one she didn’t recognize from the book was the one twinned to hers: the death of the Immaculate One.  
  
Her eyes burned; her eyeliner and shadow were flawless, sharpening her already well-honed features into something almost animalistically fierce. Her lips were stained with a gloss, delicate powder on her cheeks she could see had sharpened her already aristocratic cheekbones.

If this was also Turi’s work, then she would simply have to take him on as her personal stylist, she thought almost wildly, heart rebelling at the sight of her beloved looking so… _fierce_. She could hardly prepare to look over her further.

Her hair was down, save for a few sporadic braids, almost reaching her waist.

Her dress almost matched hers.

A silky confection, it wrapped around her, violet banded with a bright, vibrant green, like she wore in the old days; it accentuated her effortlessly, as if Petra needed assistance; her flat stomach and narrow waist were in clear prominence, as ever through the diamonds of parted silk matching hers.

She wore her ring of office, along with paired bangles. She bore a belt of some kind, delicate, glimmering gems hanging in delicate strings from the belt to make her skirt seem like some strange sky, filled with stars.

And then, the sleeve. Still bare and white, along her left arm, down to her knuckle, kept clasped carefully by delicate pins at her shoulder, same as hers.

She was incredible. She hadn’t the foggiest what she herself looked like, mooning over her helplessly, but she knew that even in all their time, she had never seen Petra’s face look so… vulnerable. Moonstruck, close to tears. It shook her. She didn’t think she’d ever seen Petra Macneary, Queen of the Islands cry, even as a child.

“...Petra?” she whispered, shaky hand reaching out, almost afraid to touch her.

Petra took her hand, gently placing it at her cheek. “I never dreamed…Weeks of planning, discussing, days in the tattooist’s chair and only now does it all feel real,” she murmured thickly, eyes gleaming with unshed tears, meeting her own.  
  
“We’re to be married,” she said breathlessly.

Dorothea could not help but match her emotions, tears only held back by years on the stage reminding her of her make-up.  
  
“We’re to be married,” echoed Dorothea softly. “So let’s do it; I’m tired of not being able to call you my wife,” she said, resolute and with a firm smile on her face, turning to the altar where sat two pillows by the low altar, clearly for them.

With a tight grip, she pulled her love up to the altar, seating herself, Petra close behind; their sleeves faced one another in silent promise of what was sure to be near.

Kin stood before them, both idols glowing as brightly at the candles. Despite being mid-day, they seemed to have an almost ethereal glow, hypnotically bright, catching the eye.

“You are gathered here to make your intentions clear before the spirits; that you wish to bind your lives together forevermore, your stories inextricable from one another,” stated Kin solemnly. 

“In service to this, you have come before them in finery, marked yourselves with signs of devotion to one another. Here we bear patrons of both humans; the Great Forest Spirit for Petra Macneaery; Xantcha the Messenger for Dorothea Arnault; both witness this reveal with the intent of sharing your story with the spirits, immortalizing the truth of your binding in their endless memories.”

Both idols gleamed, as the spirits invoked their physical forms. Xantcha appeared upon the table, seated next to his idol as formally as they were.

Across from him, the Forest Spirit, they who had earned Petra’s devotion so completely that she wore their mark upon her face, seated itself next to the table.

They were a dignified creature, bearing the build of a great cat, coat made of interlocking leaves, almost as if a snake. Its movements were sinuous, tale waving back and forth languidly, gleaming golden eyes watching over Petra.

Dorothea was eager; she wanted to remove this sleeve and reveal her devotion, ensure that Petra would never have cause to question her commitment to the love of her life or to the island she was bound to.

“Dorothea Arnault,” intoned Kin. “The spirits have requested to see your mark of devotion first. Your bride-to-be shall remove your ceremonial sleeve and reveal it to the spirits, and never again will you be required to keep it hidden,” she stated solemnly. 

Petra turned on her pillow, leaning forward with delicate care to gently unpin each of the small, straight needles which attached her sleeve to her dress, placing them in an orderly row upon the table. 

The sleeve held as she removed each pin, Petra carefully pulling it up to ensure it did not fall prematurely, revealing a slash of black banding across her wrist which Petra pointedly did not look at yet.  
  
“Ready?” breathed Petra, face inches from hers. “Since Garreg Mach,” Dorothea whispered in turn. With a delicate tug, the silken sleeve slithered off her arm as if water.

Her right arm gleamed in the dappled sunlight; she had followed Kin’s instructions to the letter, carefully moisturizing the skin, ensuring it would be perfect for this day. The black of her sleeve gleamed.

It was an odd thing to see on the delicate arm of one like Dorothea; a prowling bear, fish in its mouth, body lean and supple, stepping down her arm, eyes intense.

It was elegantly banded, as well; upon her arm were also many traditional tattoos a native would have gotten as they had passed the milestones of life; a band at her wrist, geometric lines and triangles trapped within twin bars marking her ascension to adulthood.

The bear crawled down her upper arm, staring down at her forearm hungrily, where swam more of the same fish that was in its mouth, their colors striking, red and white, swimming around the whole of her arm, filling the empty space; her bear was still hungry for more, but perhaps not to sate her stomach.

Behind her bear sat a cub. It was beautiful, mirroring much of the bear’s grace but not quite, awkwardly mimicking her mother’s moves, the mother a deep brown, the cub a delicate gray. She bore a baby’s fat, trailing in her mother’s footsteps.

Both the bears and the fish were wreathed in esoteric symbols and script; the tattooist’s messages to the spirits; explanations, clarifications, forming an aura, a frame around the intimate scene. 

Neither bride said anything as Petra looked over the tattoo, dark ink complimenting her pale skin as she gently traced her fingers over the scene.

This was her; this was a reflection of how Dorothea saw Petra, and Petra was doing all she could to take that vision to heart, understand and savor its symbolism and beauty. 

It was, after all, a masterwork; there were no scars, no awkward pin-marks. It was as if Dorothea had been painted by brush instead of needle.

The Great Forest Spirit observed her tattoo intensely, stepping forward on silent, leafy feet to look over its charge’s image with pale golden eyes, staring through the leaves of its face, offering no insight into its thoughts.

Its only response was a nod, before turning to retake its position.

After giving her a few more moments to look at her sleeve, Petra’s eyes intense, Dorothea finally spoke.  
  
“This is who you are to me, my bride. You are strong, elegant; you are a protector and a provider. You bear love for those around you,” she tried to explain, knowing she could never express the depths of her feelings. She had to try, at least.   
  
“You are worthy of all you have achieved; I give you my love, open-handed. You have earned your crown, and forevermore do I intend to serve and care for you, in all the ways a wife can and more,” she swore softly, gently grasping Petra’s hand, gazing into her eyes.

“You have me, and this is the proof,” she whispered finally. Petra gulped audibly, eyes wide.

Dorothea broke her intense gaze, turning to Kin then. “Would the spirits be amenable to revealing Petra’s sleeve?” she asked diplomatically. 

Kin nodded. “They would; both spirits have gazed upon your sleeve and accepted it; now it is your betrothed’s turn.”

Dorothea looked into her love’s eyes, receiving a firm nod. Gently, with delicate, red-painted nails, her fingers delicately plucked pin after pin, the only sound literal pin drops as they were placed onto the table, Xantcha carefully setting them in a matching row to Petra’s.

Dorothea held the sleeve in place, her heart warring with her stomach, nervousness overtaking her. What would she see? Would she agree? Like it? Dislike it? How did Petra see her? What feelings were strong enough for she and Kin to agree to eternally mark her skin?

“Ready?” she whispered softly, audible only to Petra. She gave a gentle nod.

Just as before, as if water cascading, when she let it go, the sleeve slithered down her arm silently, landing in a perfect puddle on the floor and her tattoo was revealed.

Slowly, Dorothea leaned back, hand reaching up to cover her mouth, tears springing to her eyes.

She saw a heron in flight, and her heart broke just a touch more.

Bernadetta had said the same of her. That sweet woman came to the same conclusion as the love of her life, and that knowledge felt like a spike through her chest.

“Oh…” she whispered breathily, almost musically. “I see,” she whispered, pained. 

It took her a long moment with eyes closed, before she was able to truly look at what was before her.

The heron was beautiful; brown, with green eyes, it flew above storm clouds, lightning visible beneath her on her upper arm. A beautiful, graceful being, lightning hers to command. Its runic frame was much less ornate than her own tattoo, gentle suggestions and implications, delicate characters stamped in the language of the spirits.

Lower, on her forearm was a different scene entirely. It was the same heron, long neck curved as she preened and groomed herself, cleaning the flight feathers of one of her wings. She sat in a delicate nest formed of delicately weaved twigs, a slate-colored chick cuddled into her heart feathers. Her wounded heart beat painfully at the sight.

They both had the other with their child.

Xantcha stepped soundlessly on the table, bringing himself closer as the Great Forest Spirit crawled beneath Petra, her sleeved hand gently scratching at its head. It gave what she could only describe as a purr, if the purr were made with rustling leaves, Xantcha silent as ever as he took in the sight.

After a few more moments, both spirits left Petra alone.

With a final purr, the Great Forest Spirit blew away, its leaves disappearing to the four winds in an instant, presumably to prowl its forest, as the idol did not seem to be occupied.

Xantcha did much the same, sneezing himself into incorporeality only to flit back into his idol, eyes glowing faintly.   
  
“Beloveds: you have seen your marks of devotion to one another,” began Kin. “Your spirits have assessed them and seen their sincerity. Now, it is time to formalize your union with a final symbolic gesture.”   
  
She gestured to the two candles, still burning so brightly, and to the central candle in its jar, squat in comparison to the long stems of the twinned candles.   
  
“You will grasp one another’s sleeved arms. You will each take one of these candles and as one, you will light this candle, and in the eyes of spirits and mortals, you shall be wives.”

The two of them locked eyes at that statement.  
  
“The candle will burn here, protected by your spirits until it is no more, and with it your promise to one another will be unshakable, your candle burning eternally without fire or smoke. As it burns, you will walk out, hands clasped, and you will greet your friends and family together, as you shall remain forevermore.” 

The both of them nodded seriously.

They were ready. They clasped hands, Dorothea’s entire being seeming to sing at knowing what was to come.

As one, they reached towards the long candles, taking them from their stands.

With timed movements, the burning wicks joined those unlit inside the central candle; both let their candles stay for perhaps longer than needed, wax turning liquid and pooling beneath the twinned wicks.

They pulled back, placing the candles back in their stands and stared into the flame.

It burned for them, now.

It was not a special candle, they knew; simply wax and wick and little else, but the symbolism was powerful.

“The candle is lit,” said Kin formally. “By the laws of this land, you are both wed. Go forth, and share your joy with those you love and are loved by in turn,” she said, a warm smile on her face. “May your love keep you warm both in good times and bad.”

They both stood, hands still clasped, and they turned. 

Dorothea walked as if she were in a dream. She was holding her wife’s hand. They were wed. Until they died they would be together. The Jadeheart of Brigid had married her, and would keep her in her arms for her whole life.

Not for the first time, she wondered if this was all a dream.

Rakka and Manuela stood by the doors, smiling at their inked arms and clasped hands, but remaining mercifully quiet — at least for now. With a flourish, they opened the doors outward, a satisfying gasp of excitement overcoming the crowd before they had even stepped through. 

Petra took a deep breath, and Dorothea matched her.  
  
It was time to knock ‘em dead.

They stepped through the doors, appreciative gasps and whispers echoing through the clearing as they stood together, hands clasped. Petra was the one to make the next move.  
  
In an impossibly fluid movement emblematic of her years of training Petra took her, wrapping her arms around her, dipping her deeply enough her leg stuck out to counterbalance as she captured her lips in a searing kiss which Dorothea could only moan happily into, melting completely in her wife’s strong arms and the crowd cheered enthusiastically. 

There were no fireworks, but Dorothea would swear there were for that kiss.

Thoroughly well-claimed, Dorothea was pulled up, staring dazedly out into the crowd; Asha and the Eagles were of course in places of honor in the front row, before numerous rows of what she assumed to be various members of Brigid’s nobility and elite, all dressed in their finest, much as the Eagles were.

Even Caspar and Linhardt had dressed for the occasion, both well-groomed and attentive. Linhardt, for once, looked wide awake as he clapped, Caspar cheering raucously with joy, huge hands clapping thunderously as he called their names and blessed their marriage.

Of course, they all had. The Emperor and Empress were in places of high honor, behind only Asha, resplendent in what she was told was called a ‘kimono,’ a formal garment she had yet to have cause to wear. There were multiple gossamer layers of silk layered over one another, the outer layer thicker and decorated with truly stunning patterns of flowering branches, delicate enough to seem real from a distance.

Edelgard was resplendent, as if there could be any doubt. She wore her full imperial regalia, horns, plate and all, the finest piece of all her warm smile at the sight of them. She sat formally, back straight, every inch the Emperor she regrettably had to be here as first and foremost.

Byleth was a bit different, not so thoroughly held down by expectations and clapping happily in lighter robes, no less stunning for their obvious craftsmanship and delicate embroidery bearing the Hresvelg crest and bucolic imagery, cheering delightedly and urging Asha to join their voices.

Hubert clapped politely, dressed in formal blacks highlighted with gold. His smile was small, but no doubt genuine as he leveled a knowing nod Dorothea’s way.

Indeed, the whole of the throng was joyous, all of them showing their happiness as best as they could. She didn’t recognize a third of the people here, but even despite that, her heart warmed at the sight before her.

“Guests!” called Petra, still holding her wife’s hand tight as she addressed the crowd. “My wife and I invite you to return to the palace for our reception! Food, drink and entertainment will all be provided! Let us all savor this day!” she called, smile shining radiantly on her face as Dorothea watched her, lovestruck all over again to see her so happy.

Petra began to walk down the center path, holding her hand and by all accounts positively preening to get to do so. None of the guests moved, Dorothea assuming that it was tradition for the wedded couple to lead the procession.

Dorothea didn’t really care, truly, more just happy to grasp her love’s arm, painted with lightning and water birds, sighing contentedly as they walked through the forest. 

“Your tattoo is beautiful, wife,” Dorothea murmured softly, nuzzling Petra’s shoulder. 

Petra smiled in turn. “As is yours, wife. I can’t wait to inspect it more thoroughly when we’re alone…” she said suggestively, giving Dorothea a saucy wink that had her placing a hand to her chest as she laughed, blush painting her cheeks. 

“Well, if my wife requests it, who am I to refuse?” she teased sweetly, redoubling her hold on her beloved, her wife. Her wife, her wife, her wife.

No more separate rooms. No more separate beds. They were united in the eyes of the Island and none could challenge them on the matter.

She had a lot of catching up to do, she thought with glee.


	17. Hearts' Mending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Asha survives the reception.
> 
> The Macneary family finds peace.

Asha looked upon the palace, quickly garbed in streamers and decorations with nervous eyes; it’s as if she entered a magical forest, and when she’d come out everything had changed.   
  
Rakka and Manuela were side by side in front of her, chatting amiably in Adrestian near the back of the pack, guests having left in reverse order. 

Walking in the kimono was hard, and hot. She hoped they let her change into something that wasn’t so thick when they got to the party; she was wearing five layers, and walking at anything more than a dainty pace was difficult. 

All the same, it was bearable; she liked seeing all of the people ahead of her so well-dressed, and even wearing so much she wasn’t truly _that_ hot.

Thoughts of her guardians’ tattoos distracted her the entire walk. They were so beautiful…

She still bore no ink, and she wondered wistfully if she would ever find someone who she would be willing to mark her arm like them for. 

She was lost in thought, mind split between walking properly and thinking of the beautiful sleeves she’d only gotten glimpses of in the brief moments she saw the married couple.

Both of them had baby animals in them, and she knew enough to know what it meant, and even now she wasn’t sure how she felt about that.

How could she deny their feelings now, their truth tattooed onto their skin, acknowledged by the spirits? 

It had always been true, she knew; she was the one who was having trouble being honest with herself.

She wanted to love them; she wanted to love them so badly.

They’d given her everything and more; the least she could do is give them her heart. They had already given her theirs.

She had to stop being selfish. Her parents were gone; they were doing everything in their power to be good guardians, loving parents. They deserved a daughter who loved them back.

She stepped up into the palace behind the throng, Manuela and Rakka lagging back to keep pace with her, lost in thought as she was.   
  
“Hmm, you’re a thinker, aren’t you, little Button?” asked Manuela sweetly, smiling down at her.   
  
“B—button?” she asked, confused, looking to Rakka for confirmation whose eyebrow was quirked in turn.   
  
“Of course! You’re cute as a button, so I may as well call you Button,,” she said, grinning mischievously. Asha fought back an eye roll. 

Be nice to your new grandma, she chastised herself.

The decorations only grew more festive as they made their way into the palace proper; there were rooms dedicated to drinking and talking, the feast room was a massive buffet, remodeled to allow for more tables filled with delicious-looking food, and it was not the only one.

Servants wandered with platters as the guests stood and chatted, offering finger-foods and various drinks and delicacies to the honored guests. 

It was only when they reached the main courtyard that they found the wedded couple, seated on an elevated platform at a long table, only the half facing the audience fitted with seating.

Music followed them on their journey, a quartet of musicians placed discreetly in a corner, providing cheerful but understated music; back indoors the music was a bit more raucous.

Edelgard sat to Petra’s right, discussing with her in hushed tones with Byleth next to her and Dorothea, as she would remain forevermore, remaining to her left.

There were a great many people seated at some of the myriad circular tables filling the lower garden, the entire courtyard paved in thick white linen. It seemed this would be the place for the proper meal, toasts, and so forth.   
  
She was still getting used to the sight of them, so radiant next to each other. They spotted her, Dorothea excitedly waving her back over towards them, her minders having mysteriously disappeared in her time spent mooning over her mothers.

Nervously, she walked, climbing the stairs and bowing to her parents with all the formality her lessons had taught her; back straight, yes down, hands clasped.   
  
“C-congratulations,” she said softly, trying to keep calm.   
  
“None of that, Asha, take a seat! We never introduced you to Edie, she’s wanted to meet you properly!” said Dorothea, pretty flush on her face and an empty glass in front of her.

Nervously, she did as she was bid, sitting next to Dorothea, doing her best not to fidget.

“Asha,” came an unfamiliar voice from past Petra, a pale face, horned and beautiful leaning out to look at her.

Her eyes were beautiful; a shade of pale purple she’d never seen in her life. Briefly, she forgot herself, lost in the woman’s ethereal beauty, horns making her seem like some great spirit.

“Hello. My name is Edelgard; I am a friend of both Petra’s and Dorothea’s. It’s nice to meet you, Asha,” she said in soft, soothing tones that cut through the din around them effortlessly.

She’d done her best not to look at the Emperor the night before; it was too much to think on, being in the presence of the  _ Emperor of Adrestia, the Crimson Flower herself. _

Okay, so her mother was the Jadeheart; somehow that was different; she just picked her up off the street and decided to keep her, but this was different.

The woman her father adored was in front of her, and as beautiful and entrancing as her mental image, perhaps more-so.

“K-kind greeting, Your Imperial Majesty,” she said, bowing until her head nearly hit the table, making the Emperor chuff in amusement.   
  
“Rise; you are not my subject, you are the daughter of two beloved friends; you may call me Edelgard,” she said kindly, the Professor grabbing her hand firmly at the declaration.   
  
And oh, the  _ Professor! _ Ah, spirits, it was unbelievable; intellectually she knew her mothers knew the Emperor, had fought with her and the Professor and all the other heroes of the war who slayed the Immaculate One, but to see them in the flesh was incredible.

It elevated her mothers even higher in her esteem, until they stood high in the sky among the clouds, creatures borne of myth, loyal warriors who helped the Crimson Flower defeat a false god and bring her true love back from the dead.

“I-it’s an honor, Your-um, Edelgard…” she managed, cursing herself for her incredible ability to stick her foot in her mouth.

Mercifully she was saved from herself by a waiter, walking by to offer them menus and crisped bread chips and sauce. Never had she been more thankful for an appetizer…

Shamefully, she looked at her menu with burning intensity, trying with all her might to not think about the fact that she was two seats away from the Emperor and Empress of Adrestia.

The words writhed around on the page, cold sweat running down her back as she tried and failed to focus.   
  
“Asha? Are you alright, dear..?” asked Dorothea, soft hand at her nape. “Oh, darling, you’re covered in sweat!” she cried as quietly as she could. “I’ll have Zegana bring you to your room to change, okay? Oh, you must be cooking in those robes…” she worried, flagging the maid down who, with a bow, took her hand and began walking them back to her room.

It was all a daze. It seemed like before she knew it, Zegana had pushed her into her room without a word, closing the door behind her and leaving her to her privacy.

Addled or not, getting to slip out of that formal kimono was a mercy; Keless had a maid teach her how to wear it, and it was murder; she still needed help with the belt, when the time came.

Despite her distaste, she carefully placed the garment back onto its stand, a crude torso to ensure no creases formed in the delicate material.

  
The feel of cool air on her unencumbered frame did wonders, though; it was as if a cloud was parting over her mental state.   
  
Cautiously, she searched for some of the finer garments she bore.

Finer. She almost snorted. Everything she wore was finer here than she’d ever worn before she'd met Petra.

All the same, she found one of the lighter dresses in her closet Keless had made; white and gold, it was a simple silken dress that ended above her knee, detailed in radiant spots of gold, with a red sash to compliment it, wreathed with flowering branches.

Surely that would suffice. She slipped it on, taking a moment to herself until (she assumed) Zegana knocked on her door.

She opened it, to find the maid holding a large cup of water.   
  
Without a word, she handed it to her, eyes looking at it intensely.   
  
“Wha-..?” murmured Asha confusedly.   
  
“You have heat exhaustion. Please drink it all,” Zegana said; probably the first words she’d ever heard the tight-lipped maid ever say, in fact.

“Oh… okay,” Asha said simply, beginning to drink.

  
She had to admit she had a point; the water tasted delicious, so much so she had to stop herself from gorging. After a few more swallows, she finished the cup and Zegana nodded, taking it and stepping out of the doorway to allow her passage.

Instead of going back to the courtyard however, Zegana led them to the feast-hall, where an orderly line was set up to allow for clean and orderly pass through the stations to ensure everyone had their fill of what they pleased.

Zegana set them in line wordlessly, picking up a plate and handing it to Asha, gesturing wordlessly to the delights around her.   
  
Asha had to play this smart; there was a lot of food she wanted to eat, and a finite amount of stomach space.

So, she moved from station to station, carefully portioning out the things she wanted.

Dumplings, of course. Just three though. Baked potato? No, too filling… ooh, coconut shrimp for sure, though..

She went through the rows in much the same way, setting her plate high with delicious foods.   
  
She would eat well this day, and that thought made the urchin part of her purr with delighted satisfaction.

She cackled maniacally to herself. She was going to eat this food and no one could stop her.

Carefully balancing her overtall plate, she made her way back to the table, placing her place down carefully to the amusement of everyone present.

It seemed Rakka and Manuela had also appeared, filling up what she was belatedly realizing was the table of honor.   
  
And she brought a plate full of junk food like some uncouth ruffian.

With a tight lip, she ate a shrimp and tried to let her mind go someplace cheerier.

It’s a buffet, it’s a party, no one actually cares, Byleth had four plates stacked at her place, evidently eating with demonic fervor.

With stubborn will, she forced herself to enjoy the delicious food, dipping a dumpling in some of the sauce that had been suggested to her by one of the serving staff.

“What do you hope to do when you grow up, Asha?” came the Emperor’s voice once more, catching her attention.   
  
“Me?” she asked, surprised. “Whatever will help us, I think,” was all she could really manage on short notice.

“Interesting,” she hummed. “What do you think, Byleth?” asked the Emperor, turning to give her wife and consort a radiant smile.

“ _ I  _ think she’s adorable. If her parents ever need a foster for her, we would be happy to serve!” she said cheerily, wide smile on her face.

Petra smiled at that. “Perhaps one day, but not today, you two. Adrestia has fine schools, but we intend to keep her a while longer,” she said simply before taking a delicate bite of her spring roll.

“Hmm. Well, perhaps someday our own children can come here for some of their tutelage as well; I admit, Petra, your domain does you a service,” Edelgard countered.   
  


“Ohhh?  _ Children,  _ you say? More than one? This is news to me,” said Dorothea coquettishly, leaning over and grinning at the both of them.   
  
They coughed politely in unison, blushes staining their cheeks. “It has been… long enough of a wait. The continent is stable, my rule secure. It’s time now,” Edelgard stated, voice soft. 

“While by no means do I deride your own decision, you two, perhaps you’d like to know what I’ve had Hanneman working on these past few years, as well…” Byleth said with a wink of her own. “Crests can do all sorts of things, once you divest yourself of the need to have one  _ permanently, _ ” she said, grin turning sly as she met Edelgard’s eyes. 

“Th-that’s quite enough, my love,” said Edelgard, primly eating a dumpling by hand with head pointed straight ahead, eyes closed and refusing to look at anything in particular until she’d finished her bite.

Byleth smiled, rolling her eyes affectionately. “Hee. You’re lucky I love you, or I’d spill it all right now, Edie,” said Byleth fondly. Dorothea gave a delighted squeal in response.   
  


“Ahhhh it’s so good to see you again professor! You seem so happy, love has treated you so wonderfully!” she cheered, smiling widely.

“It’s true; you’re a far cry from the stone-faced professor of Garreg Mach,” Petra added with her own soft smile.

“I’m happy for you both; I hope sincerely you would consider doing us the honor of allowing us to foster your children for a time, if it please you,” said Petra, eyes serious but warm.

Edelgard nodded at this. “Of course; Byleth and I have already discussed it at length; we of course have additional concerns before we make the decision, but you are a strong contender,” said Edelgard neutrally.

Asha had the strange sense that this was code for “absolutely, please prepare a nursery.” 

“What would I do over there?” Asha piped up, curious enough to butt in.   
  
Byleth smiled at that, stepping in. “Likely you’d visit us when you are a teenager; you’d be tutored, introduced to polite society, and ideally you’d get a taste of a different culture so as to broaden your horizons,” she said simply.

“I’d like to do that!” she said, excited. “Can I do that?” 

Petra laughed, smiling at her. “Yes, you can, Asha. When you’re old enough; there’s not many places you’d be safer than in the Emperor’s care,” she said with a nod to Edelgard.

Asha returned to her meal, lost in thought. She was going to get to travel to Adrestia, like Father had hoped for her… she hoped it was everything he had described. She ate a dumpling thoughtfully, Manuela scooching over, glass of wine in-hand.

“So, having fun, Button?” she teased, face burning. “Yeah, I’m having lots of fun. Your mommies know how to throw a party, heehee~. Not many men, though…” she rambled poutily, idly stroking her hair.   
  
She sighed. “Oh, you remind me so much of Dorothea when she was your age. I’m sure if I said that she’d be grumpy, but she’d know it was true,” she continued, taking another sip of her drink. She flopped bodily over the back of Asha’s chair, still stroking her hair.   
  
“You’re just as cute as she was, back in the day… Dorie’s lucky to have you, little Button…” she murmured, maudlin.

Asha blushed at the compliment, drunk or not. “Well… we’re both lucky to have you too, Manuela…” she said softly.

Manuela gave a sniffle at that, flopping to give her a drunken hug. “Oh, you’re just the sweetest thing, aren’t you? I’m going to spoil you rotten, just you wait…” she said, rubbing her face against Asha’s, who stoically withstood the assault to the amusement of the rest of the table.   
  
“Don’t worry, Asha, Manuela’s just an affectionate drunk, she’s harmless,” said Dorothea with an embarrassed smile. “Manuela, come on, we’re still at the table of honor, maybe drink some water?” she pleaded.

Manuela pouted, but straightened up. “Only for you, daughter. You’re lucky I love you,” she said, stealing Asha’s water glass and sipping at it.

Asha took the chance to take a step back; this was too much contact for her to be comfortable with.   
  
“I’m going to go for a walk,” she whispered in Dorothea’s ear.

“Okay, darling, be safe and come back soon, okay? It’s almost time for toasts,” she said with a gentle hand on her shoulder.

Asha nodded, wandering off through the palace once more.

She didn’t stop by the feast-hall again, simply enjoying the strains of the musicians that played as she wandered.

The guests were animated, drinking and eating and laughing and talking in the rooms, clearly enjoying the festive mood. Asha was uncomfortable with the pomp, but she certainly couldn’t begrudge it considering the circumstances.

All the same, she needed air, and when she finally made it to the back yard, she was pleased to find it mostly abandoned. Just a few other people, evidently taking a few moments for themselves away from everyone else.

She went further still however, traveling back into the forest where the wedding had taken place.

Mercifully, her travels were not long from there; before long she found a stout stump, seating herself on it and breathing out, exhausted.

So much touching, so much noise… the food was delicious, but she was exhausted all the same.

She really wasn’t much like Dorothea, who seemed in her element; as she’d eaten she’d greeted this or that dignitary, stood and gave a tipsy Caspar a strong hug when he came up to congratulate them once more, smiling warmly at Hubert when he did the same… she thrived on such things, but she didn’t.

She would have to ask Petra how she did it; they seemed to be more alike.

The forest was pure in a way places that bore humans weren’t; the air was clean, the only scents those of the trees and the dirt, the things she could see and sense. It soothed her; no secret perfumes, mysterious gestures with meanings alien to her, strange beads or elaborate tattoos.

She closed her eyes, and savored dusk.

She was roused from her peaceful meditation however, by the rustling of leaves, directly in front of her; surprised, she opened her eyes.

Before her was a sight she had never imagined.

It was some sort of cat; a sleek one, large but lithe, made of interlocking leaves of various provenances, seated and staring up at her with luminous yellow eyes. Atop its head was a tiny person, made of smoke.   
  
“Are… are you spirits..?” asked Asha, for want of having nothing smarter to say. 

The cat seemed to blink once, slowly; of course. What a silly question, because leafcats and smoke children just wandered around normally.

“Can… can I help you..?” asked Asha nervously. What did they want? Were they just watching the lonely human, or was there a reason for this?

The tiny person caught her attention with a wave, its frozen, surprised face somehow very expressive. “You wanted to meet me..? Why?” she asked, puzzled.

The little smoke child seemed to prepare itself, waving its arm backwards then forwards before taking a leap of faith, landing on the stump next to her and looking at her expectantly.

  
“You’re Dorothea’s..?” she turned her head to the leaf spirit. “And you’re — wait, that’s the  _ great forest spirit?”  _ she squeaked, whipping back to the smoke child in alarm. It nodded, face blank as ever.   
  
“U-um, hello, my… um… spirit…” she tried, wincing internally. What was the proper form of address for a spirit, why had no one taught her that yet!?

It blinked again, leaves shuffling in an approximation of a greeting. It continued to sit, looking at her with eyes she knew saw for more than they let on. This was one of the most famous spirits in all of Brigid, its powers couldn’t be overstated.

“You saved my mother, once,” she said softly, head bowed. “She wears your mark now.”   
  
She raised it once more. “If you are the spirits of my parents, then you must also be my spirits. If you have need of me, I will serve,” she said with steel in her voice.

The Great Forest Spirit made a strange crackling sound, almost akin to purring as it leaned forward to rub against her knee. The little smoke child turned to look at her, translating. They were honored and thankful to have met such a thoughtful creature; they would remember her and savor the days when her story would be inked, her hair garbed with beads.

Deftly, the Great Forest Spirit walked around her, leaning up onto the stump and shoving her with her nose until she stood; the smoke child in turn scaled up the Spirit’s paw to sit on its head once again.

_ Go, _ the smoke child seemed to say.  _ You are needed elsewhere. _

And who was Asha to deny the spirits of her parents?

With a nervous bow, she turned and walked back to the party, eyes set.

She had a purpose now; she had friends who would help her, that were above the Jadeheart’s influence, who had their own goals.

That comforted her, for some queer reason.

The walk through the palace was a strange one; it was silent now, all of the guests having seemingly disappeared.

Curiously, she made her way back to the grand courtyard, relieved to see that it was just that all the guests were arriving, preparing for the toasts, speaking amicably as they awaited the Jadeheart’s signal.   
  
Quickly and she hoped unobtrusively, she climbed the steps to the stage, seating herself next to Dorothea, everyone seated politely.

  
“Perfect, you’re just in time,” Dorothea said with a smile, hand on her shoulder. “The toasts are starting.”

Indeed, only a few minutes after she’d been seated, Petra stood up, radiating the grace of a queen.

Slowly, all the voices quieted, looking at their monarch expectantly.   
  
“We have allowed a chosen few to speak their words before the throng; let it be known that if you sent a respect to speak, that it is no insult to have been denied; we read every request, and thank you for your good wishes,” she began, voice sonorous, loud and beautiful. She was no singer, but none could deny that Petra was possessed of character that demanded she be acknowledged.

“Chief among these applicants were the royal Adrestian couple; Emperor Edelgard von Hresvelg and Byleth von Hresvelg. I cede the stage so that they may speak their words.”   
  
Without further ado, she seated herself, Edelgard and Byleth standing and walking around to the front of the stage. Both pulled papers from their vestments before crowd, and spoke in Brigidian:   
  
“Petra Macneary and Dorothea Arnault, now Macneary, are two of our dearest friends,” Edelgard began. “I was not always Emperor; there is a case to be made that I never would have been without their invaluable aid, in all things. 

Their skill at arms is without question. Their intelligence is peerless, and their hearts are bottomless; even at our lowest points during that damnably horrible war, they never failed to keep our spirits up, be that with a jaunty tune or sincere advice. It is for this reason that I am pleased to be here not only as the Emperor of Adrestia, witnessing the strengthening of the bonds between our nations, but also as their old friend; they deserve all the joy they will surely share, and I am blessed to have witnessed their union on this day.”   
  
She closed her mouth, each word echoing with sincerity. Polite applause followed the Emperor’s address as Byleth in turn stepped forward, to say her piece.   
  
“Our lovely brides were both some of my beloved Eagles; students I was charged with training and helping to grow into adults worthy of leading the people,” began Byleth, posture straight and dignified, face a mask of dignified happiness.   
  
“I must admit, if Petra and Dorothea are to be how my work is measured, I would be very pleased indeed,” she said, eliciting a ripple of laughter from the audience.   
  
“But I am not the reason for their incredible strength, their clear worthiness to be seated on the Throne of Jade; it was always part of them. Every day, I saw them fight to be the best people they could be, the shining souls they were always meant to be.”   
  
She took a breath, licking her lips.   
  
“When I disappeared for five years, I had no idea what to expect; caged by magic for so long, I had no idea what kind of world I was going to enter.

But when I saw Petra, and Dorothea, as thick as thieves, with all of my Eagles, I knew things would be okay. If we were all together, we would surmount any threat; and we did.”   
  
Her eyes sharpened at this, looking out over the audience.

“We killed a god, and it never would have been possible without their help. We united the mainland, and it never would have been possible without their help.   
  
The shining world we stand to step into together never would have been possible without their help.   
  
Petra and Dorothea will lead you into that golden age. Let it never be doubted. Their union, beyond being a love story I have had the distinct pleasure to watch unfold over the course of 20 years, is a match I know, in all my knowledge and all my wisdom to be a match that will strengthen Brigid.   
  
I bless them in the name of the Goddess, and wish them everlasting joy.”   
  
She bowed her head solemnly, surprised and pleased applause overcoming the crowd.

Edelgard gave Byleth a playful ribbing as they walked to take their seats, Byleth laughing at whatever joke Edelgard had made.

Their speeches had been beautiful, Asha mused. She was surprised the Emperor’s had been so short, but her to-the-point nature was a matter of public record; she hated being overly flowery.

When she looked to her parents though, holding hands, facing one another and clearly fighting back tears though, Asha knew what she had to do.

It was perhaps the first time she’d disregarded her parents in any matter worth noting, so she hoped she had found a good justification, as she jumped out of her too-large seat, walking resolutely to the front of the table where the Emperor and Empress had been moments ago.

“Asha-?” began Petra and Dorothea in sync, before she cleared her throat.   
  
“My mothers are the kindest people I have ever known,” she began, voice strong. She had to be strong for them, needed to show them what she felt. Her heart swelled, words she didn’t know coming to mind as if by magic, the perfect words to explain her feelings.

“I was an urchin before they found me; fighting each day simply to make my bread and keep a roof over my head.   
  
In all the time I have been in the palace, I asked myself why two incredible, beautiful, shining people like the Jadeheart herself and her paramour would want a street rat like me.

I tortured myself with that question; why? Surely there were better choices; surely they could have found me a happy home that was not their own. But they chose me.

I have fought with my heart, with the memory of my parents, long dead, and letting them go in the face of the love they have shown me so thoughtlessly, so openly, without fear of rejection, ever open-handed.”   
  
She clenched her hand, staring down at it.   
  
“I thought I was no longer worthy of love; that everyone who cared about me burned. But I was wrong.

They showed me that I am worthy; that we are all worthy.”   
  
She squared her chest, staring out at the crowd.   
  
“I am Asha Macneary, daughter of Petra and Dorothea Macneary. I am their heir and I will live up to Brigid’s needs, because Brigid has need of me.   
  
But more than that, they showed me without a doubt that they were worthy of my love, too.   
  
Because I love my mothers with all my heart can give, and you should too.”   
  
She exhaled, slowly turning to face her mothers, both agog, Dorothea with her hands at her mouth, Petra with mouth agape.   
  
“I love you both,” she said softer. “I love you both with all my heart.”   
  
As if a dam was broken, both brides pushed out of their chairs, rushing around to kneel and wrap their arms around their daughter, both weeping openly as the crowd began to cheer wildly.

Asha held her mothers, tears springing to her own eyes as she held them and they all shared quiet “I love yous,” heard only to them beneath the din of the crowd.

Asha stood there, wrapped in the love of her mothers, and she knew with all her heart, that so long as she had them in her life, everything would be okay.


End file.
